


Every Tear Leaves a Stain

by phoenix28IICF



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Abuse, F/M, First Time, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, Lawyer Harry, M/M, Miscommunication, OT5, Pining, Punk Louis, Rich Harry, Slow Burn, Smut, Tattoo Artist Louis, classist parents, couple tattoos, hmmmm I think that's everything, six year gap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-07-27 21:10:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16227386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenix28IICF/pseuds/phoenix28IICF
Summary: "I'm not sure I can be what you want, Harry," Louis said softly, his voice cracking with pent-up tears."You are what I want. What I need."Louis shook his head sadly and placed a gentle kiss to Harry's tear-stained cheek. "I'm pretty sure I'll always love you, you know?" he chuckled sadly.Then he turned and walked away without a backward glance.The, "I'll always love you too," died in Harry's throat as he stood helplessly, watching the first person he had ever loved, walk away.ORA closeted, 18-year-old Harry falls in love with Louis over the summer but has to leave him behind. Six years later, on a night at his local bar, Louis walks back into his life, bringing Harry's world crashing down. Featuring Nialee, lots of adorable Lirry moments, a sassy and lovable Louis, an insecure and confused Harry, lots of stubbornness, some self-indungent canon-esque references, flashbacks and a whole lot of shameless fluff.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya! So this is my first fic ever so please be kind. Comments and constructive criticism are definitely welcome though.
> 
> Obviously, this is a work of pure fiction and does not intend to surmise anything about the private lives of the characters it is based around.
> 
> There will be flashbacks, although it will be mostly set in the present, but hopefully the time markers should be clear enough.
> 
> It is a WIP, but I will try to update as regularly as I can.  
> Love you all and hope you enjoy!  
> Phoenix

Harry was woken by the shrill screech of his alarm. He was bone-tired, and incredibly tempted to just turn over and go right back to sleep, but he knew he didn't really have that option today. He groaned and stretched out from fingertips to toes, his spine clicking and popping. Despite having taken up regular yoga, his bad back still gave him problems. This, along with his generally jaded and pessimistic outlook on love and life, sometimes made him feel like an old man trapped in a 24-year-old's body.

Today was supposed to be a big day for him and he knew it; he just couldn't seem to be able to muster up any semblance of enthusiasm at being made a partner at Styles, Corden & Sutter; in fact, the youngest partner ever in the history of the prestigious firm.  
Of course, Harry mused bitterly, it helped that his father was the leading partner of the firm. Go figure. No matter how hard Harry worked, no matter how much he achieved, he would always have his father's shadow hovering above him, and with it, the assumption that anything Harry got was down to family ties.  
He showered and dressed quickly, brushing back his short, neat hair, making sure that he had removed all his rings and nail-polish, and was out the door and on his way within half an hour. The usual feeling that his stomach had turned to stone encompassed him as he entered the grey, airless building, ready for the day to just be over.

 

Everything went as Harry had expected. His father made a long, pompous and hyperbolic speech, wrought with half-truths and pontification. Harry shook his, James Corden's and Joseph Sutter's hands; there was a smattering of polite applause and then it was all over. Of course, the expected murmurs circulated the coffee room and the corridors, but by now, Harry had learned just to ignore it. From then on, it was just work as usual.

 

By the time 5pm rolled around, Harry was miserable and exhausted and in desperate need of a drink so he knocked on the door of Liam's office to see if he had any plans, hoping fervently that he wouldn't have to drink alone. Liam was pretty much his only true friend at the company. Despite being highly intelligent, a year older than Harry, and far more enthusiastic towards his occupation, Liam hadn't been promoted and was unlikely to be for a while. But Liam, lovely as ever and probably too kind for his own good, didn't blame or accuse Harry for any benefits he received; merely remained the loyal, supportive friend he had always been from their very first year at university.

"Hey Li," Harry said, leaning against the doorframe.

Liam looked just as frazzled as Harry felt. His glasses had slipped precariously down to the tip of his nose, his hair a bird's-nest and papers were scattered haphazardly across his desk.

"Jesus, I need a drink."

Liam smiled tiredly. 

"Yeah, me too, mate. This case is killing me. Give me 5 and I'll be out."

Harry nodded and turned tail, off to fetch his peacoat and scarf and to lock up his office for the night. Liam had been working on a case for the ridiculously wealthy fatcat of a multinational design business who was suing a family-run business for theft of intellectual property. Not only was the oligarch, Benjamin Winston, completely in the wrong (which certainly complicated Liam's job in defending him) but he was also an absolute prick. Harry also knew that Liam felt incredibly guilty for having to screw over the small, struggling family-run business; but unfortunately, such was often the nature of their work, given the extreme affluence and prestige of the firm This meant that it was mostly the rich, bitter and vengeful that were able to afford it and who therefore tended to seek out their services.

God knows, Harry often felt the same way Liam did. It wasn't that he hated his job, as such, but sometimes he couldn't help thinking that it represented the antithesis of the person he wanted to be.

Harry and Liam walked briskly to the pub down the street, bundled up tightly against the icy January wind. A familiar and welcome wave of warm, ale-scented air washed over them as they entered the pub, making a bee-line straight for the bar.

"Styles, Payne! Good t'a see ya lads!" the blonde, grinning owner of the Horse and Castle boomed, coming around from the back of the bar to wrap them both in a crushing hug. "How're ya doing fellas? Looks like 'twasn't the best of them."

"You have no idea, Nialler," Harry sighed, seating himself on a barstool and smiling gratefully as Niall served them both a pint of lager. 

"Ah sorry to hear that mate," he grimaced sympathetically, "Tell me everything. But best be quick, mind, I'm off in ten. Got a new lad covering the evening shift as I gotta get home to Hailee, what with it being our anniversary ‘n all.”

Basking in the warm, pub air, with his best mate by his side and his third pint of top-quality beer in front of him, Harry was starting to feel much better. He and Liam were chatting lazily, neither of them having any desire to discuss anything even remotely work-related, when Harry froze, his glass halfway to his lips. His verdant eyes widened in shock, trembling fingers no longer able to keep a firm enough grip on the glass and it slipped and shattered loudly on the floor. The short, tanned, tattooed man who had just come out from the back room snapped his head immediately in Harry’s direction, who was still immobile and staring, almost catatonic with shock.  
At once, the man's face went rigid and hardened. Some non-verbal communication seemed to have passed between the two of them, as the next second, Harry fled the bar, deaf to Liam's shout of surprise. Liam threw down a twenty and ran after his friend, slightly worried that perhaps, finally, Harry had gone completely mad.

 

\-----

Almost a week had passed since the eventful Monday evening at the pub and Liam still hadn't questioned or probed Harry at all on his bizarre behavior. Harry could see he desperately wanted to, could see he was practically itching with questions. Finally, Harry took pity on him and joined him on the couch of their shared living room, cup of strong tea in hand.

"Do you remember me telling you about that guy?" Harry asked finally.

"The guy who's the reason you're fucked up? Yeah, course I remember."

Harry waited for a second before Liam's eyes widened comically, realization obviously dawning.

"No shit! The new guy at the pub? The one with the tattoos?"

Harry nodded tiredly.

"Shit, man, I'm sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for. 'S not your fault. Not really so much his either, now I come to think of it. I was the one who fucked it up you know."

"Now, I'm sure that's not true," Liam said soothingly, moving up on the couch so that Harry was close enough to nuzzle into his shoulder. Harry just stayed there for a while, comforted by the rhythmic rise and fall of Liam's chest, his hand stroking gently through Harry’s hair. Liam stayed like that, and didn't question him any further, attuned as always, to what Harry needed in that moment.

At last, Harry lifted his head and asked wearily, "I never did tell you the full story, did I?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, in this one we'll get a little bit of backstory (not all of it though, that's still to come) as well as a little bit of Larry interaction.  
> Comments are always welcome!  
> Love

"I was young, and so, so stupid. I was also scared, confused, hurt and still half-way in the closet, but I'm not making any excuses for what happened. So, basically, I had just finished my last year of school at Eton and had decided to stay with Anne in Doncaster for the summer."

"Wait, remind me who Anne is again?" Liam asked.

"Nanny, au-pair, whatever you want to call her. Looked after me from when I was born and was probably the only person up until then who genuinely gave a shit about me.  
When I was 13, She was dropped off a bit late at work by her girlfriend because her own car had broken down that morning. My parents said they fired her for 'unprofessional behaviour" but I'm pretty sure that's not why they did it," he snorted with derision.  
Who had they thought they had been kidding?

"Anyway, her family wasn't very well off and she was still looking after her sick mother who had cancer, whilst paying all her medical bills out of her own pocket. She moved back to Doncaster when she was fired."

"So you went to stay with her?"

"Yeah. I had visited her a few times over the years, but I really wanted to spend some proper time there. She was the closest thing I'd ever had to a real parent. But of course, I couldn't tell my actual parents where I was really going to spend the summer, else they never would have let me out of their sight; so, I spun some lie about spending the break with a friend. Actually paid off one of the boys in my dorm to lie for me, and to this day that's still where they think I went."

"Ok so where does the guy come into all of this?"

A wistful look flits across Harry's face, but is immediately replaced with despondence and pain. If he could only forget all the suffering the summer had caused him, he could almost feel like he was back in that unusual July heat, learning about love and what it really meant for the first time.

"He was Anne's next-door neighbour. Often came around to help her out with this and that; she was getting on a bit in age, see. At that time, I still wasn't sure of my sexuality. Or well.." Harry huffed self-deprecatingly, "I guess I did know, really. I just hadn't admitted it to myself yet. And obviously there was no talking to my family about it, considering the uproar caused every time I even eyed a blouse or tried to grow out my hair."

Liam tugged Harry closer to his chest and squeezed him gently, his soulful puppy-dog eyes flooded with pity and compassion.

"He was…. He was just.. everything, you know? Everything that I thought I could be, everything I wanted to be, and - most of all - everything to me. Confident, happy and so unapologetic. He couldn't give less of a shit what people thought and that dazzled me, like, that was something I'd never seen before, especially not at Eton."

'Hmmpf, stuck-up pricks," Liam sniffed.

Harry smiled gently. "I don't think I had ever met someone before that was just so unapologetically themselves, and in the beginning, it scared me a bit. Anyway, it's a long story, so I won't get into all the details, but you know me, I fall fast. I was still so confused about my sexuality and so every little thing took time for me to adjust to. He was so, so patient with me, never got frustrated, never flinched, could always just tell when I was uncomfortable, y'know?

And…he was my first. My first everything; first kiss; first love; the first person I admitted my sexuality to; … my first time… and every second felt like something momentous, like the stupid little things - they all meant something. Like, when he stayed over, he'd always bring me a cup of tea before bed - completely unprompted - because he knew I couldn't sleep without it. Like how he'd literally sass everyone, he could be really savage sometimes, but he'd only ever tease gently whenever I came up with my stupid shit."

"Well, that's certainly saying something," Liam grinned, "Considering the amount of bullshit you spout."

Harry nodded appreciatively, grateful for Liam's attempt to lighten the mood.

He could still remember the crinkles that formed by the side of his eyes when he was truly happy; the way he centred all of his focus on his sisters if one of them asked him a question - no matter how ridiculous. The way his dainty hand fit perfectly into Harry's larger one; his possessive streak, and the little 'Louis' doodles he would draw on Harry's hands until he finally agreed to get an actual tattoo. He hadn't forgotten a single one of those little, seemingly insignificant things in the 6 years since that summer.

"I don't know man," Harry rubbed a tired hand across his temple, "I can't really explain it. I know I was young, but it was more than that 'first love' thing, yeah? Like you know they say that you 'never forget your first love' and all that shit? It wasn't that. It was so, so much more."

Liam's cheeks were now stained with tears, looking wretched. He hated to see his friend like this.

"So then what happened?"

"I had to go back. My parents were hosting their annual luncheon. You know the stupid one they do - black tie, servers, caviar and overpriced wine; with all the celebrities and politicians and well to-do assholes prancing around? Well, as I said, I was 18; young and naïve, and I somehow thought - despite all the evidence to the contrary - that my homophobic, abusive, classist parents would accept my bringing a tattooed Donny-boy as my date. Well, you can only imagine how that went down. There was a big blow up and essentially, they gave me an ultimatum. Louis or my parents. Louis or my education, my funding, my connections, my family… And I was scared and unsure of my future and still stupidly optimistic that my parents might one day not be so fucking disappointed in their camp, fairy failure of a son, and so I made the wrong decision. I haven't seen him for 6 years."

"Shit, Harry," Liam whispered, "I'm so, so sorry."

They were silent for a moment.

"You know, that's the first time you've ever used that word, right?"

"What?"

"'Abusive.' I've never heard you say it. You always tiptoe around it, find another way to describe it or just ignore it completely. This is the first time you've ever actually said it."

Harry didn't answer. There wasn't really an answer in any case; it wasn't a question.

The two friends stayed there, curled into each other, both faces tear-stained and puffy until they fell asleep, far too early.

\------

Harry and Liam had discussed it at length and finding a different bar to frequent was a bit excessive, even for them. In any case, it was Niall's bar and they weren't going to just abandon one of their closest friendships because things had the potential of getting awkward for Harry. He figured he just had to let it go and be civil, try to act unaffected and carry on, business as usual. Maybe they could even become friends, he thought wistfully. He wasn't sure whether this would be a good or a terrible thing.

Things had been intense that next week as Liam's case came to a head, and Harry had been dumped with a new unsavoury case that appealed to him about as much as sticking itching powder down his pants. So it was, that on Friday evening the two men trudged through the fresh snow to the pub, shivering and grumbling and desperate for a pint.

Niall was nowhere to be found, but sure enough, there was Louis. How was it that he had gotten even more attractive with age? He looked like he actually hadn't aged a day: what kind of bizarre Benjamin Button shit was this? Harry thought to himself, disgruntled.  
Liam shot Harry a slightly panicked look, but he just shook his head tiredly and shrugged, collapsing onto the nearest empty barstool.

It took approximately ten seconds for Louis to see him, but he seemed to have schooled his expression into one of neutrality and just gave him a polite nod.

"What'll it be lads?" he asked and whoomp there it was, that gorgeous Yorkshire lilt. Fuck, it still had the uncanny ability to turn Harry's knees to jelly.

Liam, ever on the ball, answered for them both, "Two pints of your best lager and-"

He glanced at Harry's exhausted expression and added, "best add two shots of tequila as well."

Louis nodded and turned his back to go and serve the drinks. Harry took the opportunity to examine this version of Louis. He had quite a few more tattoos than when he had seen him last and he seemed to have lost quite a lot of weight, so much so, that it scared Harry a little. Harry had noticed that his eyes were a bit sunken and that he no longer wore his signature eyeliner or his piercings.

"Here you go. Enjoy, lads," and he made his way to the back room.

Harry let out a sigh that he hadn't even realized he had been holding in.

"Fuck, Lima."

Liam nodded morosely and took a long slug of his lager. Harry wasn't even sure whether his expletive was related to the shit-storm of a day that he'd had or the discomfort of seeing Louis again, but he was definitely ready to forget a little bit. They hadn't gone clubbing in so long, maybe they should go after this.

When Niall came out from the backroom, bouncing and jovial, Harry breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that it meant that Louis' shift was over.

"Boys! Good to see ya!"

Harry and Liam spent another good hour laughing and drinking with Niall. It was almost impossible not to feel better in the presence of the happy-go-lucky blonde Irishman and it just felt good to let go a little. By the time they had been sitting there for two hours, both of them were slightly woozy and when Harry suggested going out to the club down the road from their apartment, Liam and Niall jumped on it right away. Niall stayed behind to lock up the pub and the other two popped home to change out of their stuffy suits and into something a bit more Friday-night appropriate; Liam his usual leather jacket and white shirt and Harry a black, sheer blouse with a swooping neckline and his tightest black skinnies.

\-------  
The club was positively throbbing with people, music thumping and reverberating through Harry's skull, the smell of sweat and alcohol permeating his skin. The slight fizz in his brain from the drink, the sweaty bodies around him and the flashing lights felt so, so good. They hadn't been out in ages. Niall and Hailee arrived a little after them, and after a round of shots, left to grind on the dancefloor. _Soppy love-struck idiots,_ Harry thought fondly to himself.

Liam was chatting up a leggy brunette, so Harry immersed himself in the seething crowd of dancing bodies, losing himself in the rhythm of the music. A tall, blonde boy with two-day scruff and a leather jacket came up behind him, and, after cocking his eyebrow questioningly, Harry started to grind rhythmically back onto the stranger. He wasn't really Harry's type at al,l but he was fit, Harry was drunk, the music was good and so Harry relaxed back, closing his eyes and savouring the boy's ministrations to his hair and the damp press of his lips to Harry's throat.  
A little while later, Harry reopened his eyes, looking around for Liam and Niall, pretty sure that he'd be going home with this stranger tonight, if the rushed panting huffs of his breath and the hardness pressing firmly into his arse were anything to judge by.

And then, from across the room, he recognized an all-too familiar pair of electric blue eyes staring unblinkingly at him. Even in his current state, Harry could tell that Louis was absolutely breath-taking; his hair swooped elegantly up into a quiff, the dark ink of his tattoos contrasting with the low-cut white tank that exposed his collarbones; skin-tight jeans hugging his curves. Harry stopped moving completely and stared back, stock-still, hearing the man behind him emit a displeased whine at the loss of contact. Harry whirled quickly around, placed his hand on the blonde's shoulder and whispered apologetically, 'Sorry mate, got to go," before turning tail and pacing across the room to where Louis stood, drink in hand.

Harry wanted to lick into the dip of Louis' collarbones, kiss along the exposed skin of his jawline, rest his hand on his ass through the sinfully hugging jeans. But this wasn't exactly in line with his plan of trying to be friends and appearing unaffected and casual, and - even though he was far from sober - even he he knew not to cross that line. He did however pull Louis by the hand without a word, heading for the smoking section where the music was softer, and a conversation could actually be held without bellowing at the top of one's lungs. When he reached his destination, Louis raised an eyebrow questioningly, a look of surprise and slight annoyance on his face.

"Sorry," Harry blurted out immediately, running a hand across his face.

Louis snorted. "What for? For acting like I'd never existed or for dragging me along, unannounced and against my will?

"I'm sorry… I-"

"Yeah, you said that." Louis was leaning against the wall, hip cocked, mouth in a dispproving pout and eyebrows so high they might disappear into his hairline at any moment.

"I know, look, Louis, I've dragged you out here because I need to apologize and because I don't want things to be awkward between us. Niall is one of my best mates and the Horse and Castle is my local, so it's not like I won't be seeing you again. I really just don't want it to be so uncomfortable every time it's your shift." Harry pleaded.

Louis appeared to consider this for a moment.

"All right, that's fair enough."

Harry let out a relieved breath. He had expected an argument, some classic Tommo sass TM ,a snide remark or two; accusations even.

"Really?

"Yeah, I guess we're both adults. And there's no reason why we can't be friends, I suppose."

"I would really like that."

"Yeah me too" Louis smiled. "You know, we were friends, before anything."

This was going far better than Harry could have possibly hoped.

"Friends?"

"Yeah, friends."

Harry opened his arms hopefully and Louis gave him a tentative squeeze before hopping back again quickly, clearly anxious for there not to be any blurring of boundaries.

"Well," Louis said, "I had better get back in there. Z - my friend's waiting for me."

"Oh, yeah um - yeah ok. I think I should be going anyway," Harry stuttered, and started to walk away, giving Louis a little wave as he went.

When he arrived home that night, ready for a good long sleep, he still couldn't believe his good luck. It wasn't until hours later, when he was woken by a throbbing headache that he realized that Louis' immediate agreement to be friends didn't sit quite right with him at all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Larry interaction yay! That's pretty much it. It's literally 2000 words of waffle.  
> Enjoyyyyyy!

"Wait, wait, wait, hold on a minute," Liam said, holding up a hand and nearly knocking over his coffee in the process. Harry was sitting on Liam's desk, taking his lunchbreak, unable to keep working on his godawful case without a strong cup of tea and a chat.

"I'm confused. So he just agreed? Like - to be friends? Sorry, dude, but that makes like zero sense."

"Yeah, I mean in retrospect, I kinda agree with you. At the time I couldn't really believe it either, but I was just so relieved that we hadn't had a huge public argument, that I just sort of let it go."

"Hmmm.." Liam mused, giving his coffee a pensive stir. 

"It's just… how was he so unaffected? Like he was obviously pissed off at first, but he basically conceded right away. I don't get it; that's not like him at all - he's never one to drop an argument!" Harry burst out.

Liam was quiet for a moment, and then in a softer, more careful tone asked, "You gonna tell me what's really bothering you?"

Unable to hold back any longer, Harry finally said what he had been thinking ever since that night, too afraid that if he actually said it out loud, actually admitted it, that he would have to face the possibility that it was true. He was pretty sure Liam knew already, anyway.

"The fact that he was so ready to drop it and be 'just friends'… like it was nothing, you know? It just… it makes me think like, what if I blew everything out of proportion? What if it didn't mean the same thing to him that it meant to me, what if I was just some stupid kid, a summer fling?"

"Harry," Liam said seriously, "You're not a stupid kid, and I don't think you were at the time either. I also don't think he actually thought that."

The more Harry thought about it, the more it made sense to him. He had been completely naïve and inexperienced, three years younger than Louis and still in the closet. Not to mention that they had only been together for two months. How had he not seen this before?

"Fuck," he said, "Fuck. That's it, isn't it? I was wrecked, Li, absolutely wrecked for at least a year afterwards, and I still compare every bloody relationship to that one. He's unaffected because it wasn't like that for him."

Liam, logical, pragmatic, sensible Liam, who always had a response to everything, was silent. He didn't have an answer for Harry this time.

Harry shrugged, drained what was left of his tea and trudged back to his office. He would be working late tonight; he had some major deadlines the next day and the sheer volume of work was overwhelming him. It was just this final little push and then hopefully there would be a slight lull in the workload before things picked up again.

 

\------

As Harry had predicted, the workload had lessened slightly towards the end of the week and so he and Liam headed to the Horse and Castle the following Friday, looking forward to a few beers and a chat with Niall.

"Fellas!" the familiar Irish voice boomed. "Good ta see ya's"

Their evening followed their usual pattern, and while they were both still considerably stressed, the good drink and joviality of the Irishman landed them in considerably better spirits. When they were just about ready to go, Niall suddenly remembered, "It's your birthday next week, isn't it Harry?"

Harry groaned. He absolutely hated celebrating his birthday.

Niall had a devilish twinkle in his eye.

"Nah mate, you're not getting out of celebrating it this time. We'll do it here, real casual. Just Hails, me, you two, maybe Perrie and Jade? Oh! and Ed too, if he can take time out of his busy schedule." Niall rolled his eyes fondly.

Harry sighed, resigned to his fate. Once Niall got an idea in his head, it was there to stay.

"Fine," he grumbled, "As long as it's small. Just a casual lunch; no drunken shenanigans, alright?"

"Scouts' honour" Niall promised.

"You've never been a scout, dickhead" Harry pointed out.

\-----

An entire week had passed and neither man had made it back to the Horse and Castle. They were pretty sure Niall was just about ready to unfriend them in real life, and so on Sunday lunchtime of Harry's twenty-fifth birthday, the two of them reluctantly arrived at the agreed time, resigning themselves to trying to have a good time despite knowing that they'd have to work early the next day.

Their friends were seated around two tables pushed together in the corner, and several other patrons were scattered around the pub at their own tables. Hailee, Niall, Perrie and Ed were all there and gave shouts of welcome as Liam and Harry made their way towards the little group. Despite his initial reluctance, Harry was secretly pleased to see his friends again, especially all together in one place at the same time, an occurrence that tended to be rather rare nowadays. Niall and Hailee were clearly already on their way to being drunk and so Harry and the others steadily tried to catch up, laughing, eating drinking, sharing stupid anecdotes and generally taking the piss out of each other.

After their main, as people were deciding on whether they would be ordering desert or not (Harry was quite sure Liam was eyeing the sticky-toffee pudding), Harry slipped off to use the bathroom. On his way out, he recognised a familiar face tidying the shelves of the storeroom.

"Louis?" Harry asked, surprised.

Louis turned around, and gave a small smile on seeing Harry's face.

"Harry!"

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, rather stupidly.

Louis chuckled lightly, "Eh, me shift starts in 'bout an hour, but the storeroom needed some tidying so.." he shrugged his shoulders. "Oh yeah, mate, Happy Birthday!"

For a moment, Harry was a little stunned that Louis still remembered this little detail about him, before he realized that Niall had probably told him. Stupid, he thought, don't be stupid, Harry.  
He grinned and then a (probably very misguided) idea came to him.

"If you start in an hour, why don't you come join us. You know Niall and Hails obviously and you'll like the others I'm sure. But obviously only if you want to" Harry added quickly, blushing furiously, "It was a stupid idea, nevermind.."

"I'd love to, mate."

Slightly taken aback, but certainly pleased, Harry nodded and led Louis back to their table.  
Just as Harry had expected, his friends immediately loved Louis. Harry had never forgotten the effect Louis had on people, his compassion and easy charm impossibly attractive. Liam seemed rather hesitant, but Harry knew that this was just his protective streak; Liam knew how Harry had suffered and was therefore on high alert around Louis. Harry leant back and just basked in the pleasure of hearing Louis' soft, melodic voice again, his tinkling laugh, his ridiculous stories.

 

He had always found it a little disconcerting to look at him, piercings, tattoo, eyeliner, ripped tank and vans, and think that this was the soft, loving, sweet creature that had adored and nurtured a petrified 18-year-old Harry. But, he reminded himself, he couldn't allow himself to think like that anymore. They were friends, nothing more. Louis had made it perfectly clear that that was what he wanted now, and Harry was petrified of what would inevitably happen to his already fragmented heart and fragile sense of self if he went back down that path again.

At some point, Niall and Hailee excused themselves, shortly followed by Perrie and Ed who were meeting some friends for the afternoon. Liam decided to go home to prep his meals for the week and work a little more on his current case.

And so it was that it was just Harry and Louis left. Harry wondered if he should just leave, if he was making things awkward, but then decided that, no, if they were going to be friends, then they were going to do it properly, and friends talked, didn't they? They had conversations, drinks?

Louis' shift had started, but they had been in the middle of a conversation about last week's match and so Harry followed Louis up to the bar, looking at him questioningly, as though asking permission to stay. As usual, Louis seemed to know exactly what he was asking and said, "Sit Haz. It won't be busy for a while; could do with the company." 

Harry had to actively stop himself from preening at the use of the nickname. No one except Louis had ever used it; those who had tried had been shut down immediately.  
The bar was indeed pretty quiet, and Harry was tired and not really in the mood to brave the cold just yet.

"So you and Liam are working at a firm then, I take it?" Louis asked as he dried a glass with a dishcloth. It felt oddly formal.

"Yeah, the one just down the road. 'S why this is our local."

"And you met Liam.."

"Uni," Harry replied. "Cambridge. We met first year and pretty much stayed together through everything ever since. He's a decent lad."

"Yeah, I can tell that. Protective of you."

Harry looked up, worried that Louis had caught on to Liam's tentativeness and had mistaken it for dislike. But Louis seemed sincere.

"It's good Haz," he continued, a little softer, "I'm glad you have someone like that."

This sudden show of emotion, this sudden softening, warming, alluding to the bond they had once shared, was just too much for Harry. He swiftly changed the subject, as far away as possible from his own emotional state and thoughts.

"So, did you just move here, then?"

"Yeah. Zayn and I got offered to co-open a tattoo parlour up here. It's been a tough few weeks, but hopefully once we're up and running, the money'll be decent. We're working with real fucking artists, it's insane." His eyes were alive with excitement, like they always had been when talking about his art. It was one of the first things Harry had noticed and loved about Louis: how he could be so passionate about what he did for a living, the emotion he imbued into it.

"That's great Lou!" The nickname just slipped out before he could stop it. Sod it, he thought, if he can call me Haz, I can call him Lou. "So Zayn's here too."

"Yep," he nodded, "we're sharing an apartment quite a way out of the city. It's a bit of a drag getting to work every day, but for the money we had, it's really decent. I had to take up this gig," he gestured around him to the bar, "because obviously we're just getting started and London's obviously ridiculously expensive. Zayn's working in one of those hipster coffee shops and absolutely hates it," Louis snorted.

Harry grins. "How though? I thought that would be right up Zayn's alley? They have to be really bad if even Zayn can't handle it."

"Yeah apparently, the clientele is mostly unemployed hipsters who are designing the 'next best app' and wear ironic beards and glasses and drink kombucha and vegan cupcakes and shit."

"Jesus" Harry whistled though his teeth, "That sounds like hell. Don't think I could deal with that all day long."

"Um excuuuuuuuse me? Coming from you, Mr Harry-I-went-to-Eton-and-then-Cambridge-and-now-work-at-a-swishy-law-firm-Styles?"

Harry squawked with laughter. "Touché. I guess that's fair," he raised his hands in surrender.

Louis gave him a dazzling grin. His real grin, the one where his eyes got all crinkled up at the corners.

Harry felt a little whizz in his chest, like the fizz of sherbet, and did his very best to pretend he hadn't felt it. 

Harry checked his watch and realized it was already coming up to 6pm and knew he better get going if he was going to get everything done and have a good night's sleep.

"Ah shit, I've got to go mate."  
The "mate" tasted weird and foreign on his lips.

"No worries, man. Great to chat to ya. Pop 'round the tattoo parlour sometime soon, yeah. I know Zayn'd be pumped to see ya."

"That's be awesome! Um, do you have the address."

"Yeah, sure. Obviously we're not fully open all the time just as yet, so you'd have to contact one of us. Hang on, here."  
Louis took Harry's phone from off the countertop and typed in his number.  
"There. Just text me when you want to drop by, yeah?"

"Sure", Harry nodded. He couldn't quite believe what had just happened.

"See you, I guess."

"See you."

And with a little wave and a genuine smile, Harry left the pub, making his way towards the nearest underground station, a warm gooey sensation lighting up his insides.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry sees Zayn again, has a bit of a flashback and gets asked out on a date.
> 
> Here is the interior of the tattoo shop that I envisaged for this scene: https://www.19-28tattoo.com/19-28-barcelona/studio/
> 
> More fluffy flashbacks are coming next chapter, and hopefully some proper Larry interaction.

As February thawed into a sludgy May, Harry was slowly getting accustomed to his new workload and title; the situation having been ameliorated slightly due to his having been allowed to hire an assistant. Greg James was friendly, unobtrusive and intelligent - if a little dull - and good enough at his job that Harry's stress level was reduced significantly, although at first, he couldn't help feeling that him having an assistant was unnecessarily extravagant.

He was also getting used to his weird and slightly uneasy new friendship with Louis. Harry had actually seen him relatively often, spending the last two Sunday afternoons at the pub with him; chatting at the relatively quiet bar, in addition his usual Friday- evening drink accompanied by Liam, and sometimes Niall.  
Despite the constant crushing pressure on Harry's chest that reminded him of the fact that he would never be with Louis in the way he really wanted, it did feel really good to just _talk_ to him again. Their conversation had always been so easy, unburdened; Louis seemed to innately know both what Harry was going to say and what he meant, sometimes even better than Harry himself.  
So, he decided that, if this was the only way that he could have Louis, then it was still worth it, as having him in at least this capacity was better than not having him in his life at all.

 

Mercifully, he and Liam had the Monday off that week and so they took the opportunity to visit Louis at his new place of work, as promised.  
They had yet to visit the tattoo parlour; Harry secretly rather anxious at the reception he might get from Zayn. He was sure that Zayn knew the whole story; he _was_ Louis' best friend after all, and it's not like Harry hadn't enclosed the whole sorry story to his own best friends. And really, he couldn't fault Zayn in the slightest if he blamed Harry for how things went down, wouldn't fault him for thinking he was a stuck-up, spoiled little prick. Lord knows _he himself_ had often thought the same about himself in the years that followed the summer of '12. Although, if his previous deduction had been correct - that their relationship had been nothing more than a careless, meaningless fling for Louis - then it shouldn't matter to Zayn anyway.

Thus it was that Harry found himself anxiously fidgeting outside the pristine new door of 17 BLACK, dreading the encounter to follow, Liam's steadying hand a comforting weight on his shoulder.

"Lads!" came Louis' enthusiastic voice from the doorway. "Hang on a tick!" He fiddled with the door, swearing loudly as he jiggled the lock, trying to unstick it. The door swung open to an apologetic Louis; clad in a low-dipping black tank emblazoned with the words: "Skate Rough", (something that a 21-year-old Louis would have taken the absolute piss out of and have probably only worn ironically, if at all), his usual skinnies and black vans.  
"Sorry, lads. We're still trying to fix the bloody thing. OII! ZAYN!", he bellowed over his shoulder, retreating into the hall of the shop.  
"Sorry, come on in. Zayn should be out in a sec, he's in the back I think. We only open in half an hour so no clients yet, first one's at 9 I think. Want a drink?"

"Its 8:30 on a Monday," Liam pointed out.

"Ah, what an astute observation, Payno," Louis shot back, completely dead-pan. He then winked and turned on his heel. Harry really tried to unglue his eyes from the rhythmic sway of Louis hips and the way his tight jeans hugged the roundness of his incredible bum. He wasn't particularly successful.

"I told you not to call me that, dickhead," Liam grumbled, but with no real conviction in his voice.

Louis just flipped him off over his shoulder.

A minute later, a familiar rail-thin, dark haired figure appeared from the doorway of the backroom. Zayn had accumulated a vast number of new tattoos since Harry had seen him last - hardly an inch of clear skin remained on his arms - as well as several new piercings along his left ear. His hair was buzzed and had been dyed platinum blonde.

"Harry." He didn't smile. "And this is?" he continued, looking questioningly at Liam.

"Liam, Lima bean, LiLi, Payno.. whatever tickles your fancy. He's a good egg, I reckon." Louis called from the little kitchen where he was boiling water for tea.

"Pleasure," Zayn said, extending a hand for him to shake. After a brief moment of hesitation, he held out a hand to Harry as well, who awkwardly shook it. The last time he had seen Zayn, their greeting had been a tight hug and a fond " _Harold!"_

Zayn did tend to take a little while to warm up to new people; had been quiet and reserved for quite some time the first time Harry had met him, so Harry couldn't quite tell whether Zayn was just being his usual sort of quiet or whether he was actually being openly hostile towards him - though he suspected it might be the latter.

Liam seemed to pick up on it too; and immediately jumped into classic Liam mode, filling the silence with amicable chatter and being generally enthusiastic and complimentary about everything. The atmosphere seemed to gradually thaw (mostly thanks to Liam's inane chatter) and then Louis gave them a little tour of the parlour, excitedly showing them his new, top-quality equipment as well as the bizarrely quirky decoration. Louis had obviously given Zayn free rein to decorate the shop, and while it was all a little bizarre and out-there, Harry couldn't deny that the result was beautiful and unique.

Liam had left shortly after the first client had arrived, excusing himself to go meet one of his childhood friends for lunch, and Harry only stayed for a little while longer, Louis showing him a book of his recent artwork. Harry knew Louis was talented - even at 21, he had created some of the most beautiful designs - but these…these were unbelievable. It was like Louis had poured a little something of his own soul into each detailed sketch. Harry hadn't had a tattoo since his first one, during the summer all those years ago. He had considered it several times; seen some ideas that he liked the look of, but it had always felt _wrong_ somehow: to get it inked by anyone other than Louis, and so he had never gotten anything else done.  
Every time he undressed and saw his naked reflection in the mirror, the delicate butterfly on his chest served as a painful, but beautiful reminder of Louis; of that lazy summer day when their love had been etched in his skin forever.

\------

**1 August 2012**

Louis and Harry were lying side by side in the backyard under the shade of an old sycamore tree, the air around them quiet and tranquil save for the occasional lazy drone of a bee or the rumble of a lawnmower. It was hot, unseasonably so, and Harry had his head resting gently on Louis chest, soothed by the rhythmic up-and-down of his breathing. Every so often Louis would run his hand through Harry's long, glossy hair, or gently stroke his fingertips down his forearm, causing goosebumps to erupt in its wake.  
Harry couldn't remember the last time he had felt this peaceful and carefree. Maybe it was because he never really had.  
He sat up, finally voicing the idea that had been swirling around in his head for the past few days.

"I want to get a tattoo."

Louis sat up too, frowning slightly.

"You sure, Haz? Once it's there, it's there, and from what you've told me about your family, I'm thinking that it might not be the best idea."

"Yeah, I'm sure," Harry insisted.

Louis waited for a moment, seemingly weighing up what he was going to say.

"Alright then, if you're sure. When do you want to do it?"

Harry gently traced a finger over Louis' stag tattoo, feeling Louis' skin shiver instinctively at his touch. He pressed a tender kiss to the inked skin, just because he could.

"Now?"

"Now?" Louis eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Yeah. Why not?"

Louis smiled fondly at him, eyes crinkled, and shook his head slightly.

"All right then! We can head off to the shop now if you'd like. Tom should still be in, so I won't need a key. Come on, you great gangly lump," he said, heaving himself to his feet and extending a hand to help Harry up.  
Harry ignored it and sprung to his feet, grinning radiantly, dimples on full display. He pressed a delighted kiss to Louis' lips, pinched his bum cheekily and pranced off, swaying his hips exaggeratedly and making Louis giggle behind him.

Harry had had his eye on an intricately drawn butterfly in one of Louis' sketchbooks that was situated just below a draft of the "It is what it is" tattoo that splayed across Louis chest. He not only thought it was beautiful, but he also liked the idea of change; that something beautiful could come out of the all the ugly.

He had lain still in the chair, Louis gently reassuring him and pressing feather-light kisses to his temples before he carefully prepped the needle to trace over the stencil placed on Harry's chest. He was surprised to find that he didn't really mind the pain, that if anything, he perhaps even enjoyed it a fraction. When it was finally done, Louis helped him up to look in the mirror. His chest was still a little raw, but the butterfly was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. Louis carefully wrapped the freshly inked skin and told Harry that he'd guide him through the aftercare when they got home.

The next day, when the binding came off, Harry examined his tattoo again in the mirror, the ink still very dark and the lines still raised from it being so fresh. They had made love that night; soft and slow and sweet and when he came, hands intertwined with Louis', Harry had felt a surge of electricity spread out from his heart and through his newly inked chest.

\------

Harry was working late; the office was almost completely empty, except for a few eager interns, Greg, and Harry himself. Harry did feel a little bad for keeping Greg back, but he had given him the next day off, so he figured it wasn't too bad. Glancing up at the clock to see it was well past 8, Harry decided to call it a day, and started to gather up his things.  
As he locked his office door behind him, shrugging on his new navy Yves Saint Laurent pea-coat, he saw Greg walking up towards him.

'Hey mate, I'm done so you can go home now. Thanks for staying, I know it's been a late one." He grimaced apologetically.

Greg just smiled, unaffected, and accompanied Harry out of the office building coat in hand.

They chatted casually, Greg mentioning that he was meeting up with his sister and her new baby the next day for lunch, immediately causing Harry's ears to prick up in interest. Harry loved babies. As he talked, Greg grew more enthusiastic and Harry began to feel a little guilty for how he had dismissed his new assistant as boring right off the bat. If they were going to be working together, it was worth getting to know each other a little, he mused.

"Hey mate, I'm popping by the pub on my way home, want to join?"

"Yeah that would be great!" Greg replied eagerly. "I definitely need a drink."

That evening, Harry broke his rule about no shop-talk away from the office, because as it turned out, Greg was way over-qualified for his job and was well the intricacies of the kind of libel laws Harry was currently dealing with. Harry told him as much, confused at why someone who was clearly so intelligent was doing grunt-work for a younger man.

"I don't get why you work for me," he said, lazily stirring his martini with a cocktail stick (Niall had taken the piss out of him when he had ordered it and was still over in the corner cackling 5 minutes later.)

"Oh shit sorry, I didn't mean it like that." He added, quickly.

"Nah, relax, I know what you meant. I am a bit overqualified for the job but the market out there is really tough at the moment. My previous firm went under and no-one's really hiring at the moment - Well, no one worth-while anyway," he shrugged.

"I figure if I can get my foot in the door here, than maybe it'll lead to something better."

"I mean, that is a fair plan," Harry conceded, "Though you probably shouldn't be talking to your boss about that."

Greg looked up at Harry for a second and then they both burst into laughter.

"To be perfectly honest, you're the least boss-like boss I've ever had."

Harry huffed, pretending to be offended.  
"Oh? Is that so? Well, Mr James, I'm afraid you are going to have to compensate for that lapse in professionalism."

"I could do that. How about with dinner?"

Harry froze. It had seemed he had slipped into flirting-mode without conscious thought, and now a million thoughts were racing through his head at once.  
It's not that he didn't find Greg attractive, it was just…. It was just... nothing, he decided. It was probably rather unprofessional, but Harry had thrown the rulebook out the window years ago anyway. Why not give Greg a date? He seemed perfectly decent - not the kind to rip out his heart, stomp on it, and then run over it with a moving van. Perhaps Harry's imagination had strayed a bit from the matter at hand for just a moment there.

"Yeah, ok."

"Really?" Greg asked, a bit surprised.

"Yes, really," Harry chuckled, "Why did you ask if you didn't think I would say yes?"

Greg just shrugged, grinning.

Glancing at the time, Harry suggested they go as it was getting rather late, said his goodbyes to Niall and Hailee and bade farewell to Greg, who lived in the opposite direction to him.  
As he entered the flat, dropping the keys in the little porcelain bowl on the counter, Harry breathed a deep sigh, a hand across his eyes wearily.  
It had been a weird evening, that's for sure.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiya,  
> I'm afraid this is quite a short one but I just found that it ended on a natural note and didn't want to continue on unnecessarily. The next few chapters will hopefully be quite a bit longer than this one.
> 
> Also, I have decided to date the flashbacks so that it's clear that 1. they are indeed flashbacks and 2. the rough order of past events.  
> Hope you enjoy!  
> xxx

Harry's date with Greg went well. He wasn't sure what he had expected going in to it, but Greg turned out to be quite charming, interesting to talk to, down to earth and could certainly clean up well. He had told Harry a little more about his family: his sister who was already on his third child and his parents who lived close-by on the outskirts of London. Harry had steered clear from any conversation regarding his own family; it was extremely rare for him to disclose anything about his parents or his childhood to _anyone_ and so he stuck to safer subjects such as how he, Liam and Niall had met in their first year at Cambridge, when Niall still had braces and Liam had a ridiculous shaved head, and relayed some of his more entertaining (and usually embarrassing) anecdotes from his years at Uni.

 

When the date was over and they had paid the bill, Greg insisted on dropping Harry off at his door; though Harry had teased him good-humouredly for his over-the-top display of chivalry. He gave Harry a light peck to the cheek and a little wave and then headed home, leaving Harry on the doorstep outside his apartment.

When he eventually entered the flat, Liam was waiting eagerly for him on the sofa, already clad in his batman pyjamas and clearly anticipating a blow-by-blow report on the date. Harry collapsed on the sofa beside him, his head a little fuzzy from the wine and the general first date butterflies. "So…. how was it?" Liam cajoled.

"Was good, I enjoyed it."

"Is that all I'm getting, Haz?" Liam frowned, "Usually you're exploding with ridiculous, unnecessary details."

"I don't know what to tell you, Li," he answered tiredly. He had had a good night but probably too much wine and he was now feeling its effects along with the solid lump of heavy, indigestible French food in his gut. "I had fun, he's a really nice lad."

\"Hmmmmm……." Liam looked unconvinced, his eyebrows pressed together in confusion, but when he could see that Harry wasn't planning on elaborating any further, he dropped it; clearing his expression to one of neutrality and patting Harry on the shoulder. "Well I'm glad. You could do with a little 'nice' in your life, I reckon."

\------

 

**10 August 2012**

Louis and Harry were strolling down the high street hand in hand, revelling in the pleasant breeze that attenuated slightly the effect of the extreme summer heat. Louis had insisted they spend his day off in Sheffield, barely a half-hour's drive from Doncaster, and they had just finished a traditional English breakfast in a little café overlooking the park.

"Not nearly as good as your fry-up, by the way," Louis had whispered upon leaving, briefly nudging his nose to Harry's shoulder.

Harry's face did that little scrunchy thing that it usually did when he was trying to contain his fonding. Sometimes when he looked at Louis, Harry thought he could give up everything if Louis just asked him to. It was a terrifying, overwhelming thought and Harry realized that its intensity might scare Louis off if he actually voiced it; hence the nose-scrunching coping mechanism that he had unknowingly developed.

"Want to hear a joke?" Harry asked as they ambled leisurely by shop windows, occasionally peeking in at the window displays or pointing out pretty buildings.

"Oh god noooooo! Please Harry, I don't think I can take it," he wailed melodramatically, slumping down so that he was resting almost all of his weight on Harry and gazing up at him through his long feathery lashes.

"Heeeeeeeeeey!" Harry half-sulked, half-laughed. "My jokes are not that bad!" Louis straightened up and looked into Harry's eyes with a very serious expression.

"Yes Harold, they are that bad. If the world depended on one of your jokes actually being funny, then we'd all be burnt to a crisp within the next few minutes."

Harry pouted, striding huffily ahead of Louis, who just laughed fondly, darting up behind him and wrapping his arms around Harry's waist from behind, chin resting lightly on his shoulder, lips to his ear.

"Ah babe," he whispered to Harry, who had abruptly stopped walking at the touch, "Don't let it get you down; we can't all be comedians. And besides, you're plenty skilled in uh… other departments."

And he linked arms smugly with Harry, pulling him along again, as the younger man flushed a beetroot red. Just then, the boys came up to a vividly decorated shopfront and Louis almost keeled over as Harry stopped dead in his tracks, his eyed glued to the most beautiful flowy floral blouse. It was made from the most delicate silken fabric Louis had ever seen, a shimmering swirl of cobalt blue and deep emerald green.

"It's…so beautiful" Harry murmured, awestruck. Louis was watching Harry with an unidentifiable expression.

"Want to go inside?" he asked gently, his hand resting on the small of Harry's back.

Harry hesitated for a moment. His goofy confidence from earlier had all but disappeared and he was far more subdued now, unsure, almost a little anxious. His timidity reminded Louis of the very first time they had met, an awestruck Harry completely unable to form a single coherent sentence.

"C-can we?"

"Of course, love," Louis answered encouragingly, leading Harry by the hand into the little boutique filled with magnificent colours and fabrics. He watched as Harry walked around, examining each exquisite piece, occasionally running a hand across the soft fabric, and once or twice, bringing it up to his face to feel its texture against the skin of his cheek.

"Would you like to try some things on?" Louis asked in that same soft voice he reserved especially for Harry. Harry's expression hardened abruptly.

"No. I can't. This was stupid." He snapped his attention away from the sleeve of the lilac blazer that he had been examining and headed towards the door. Louis reached out and grabbed Harry's sleeve, tugging him back towards him.

"Why not?"

Harry whipped around, his face set, lips thin. Louis had never seen Harry look like this before, had never seen him…angry? "Because, I can't. I can't wear that. I'll look like a fairy. People will think I'm a fag…" His eyes widened. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"

"It's ok Haz, I know you didn't" he sighed, "Can I tell you something though?" he asked, drawing tentatively Harry towards himself and settling his hands on his waist. He looked very seriously into Harry's eyes and said firmly, "I'm not sure what you think or what you've been told, but I need you to know that you can wear whatever you want and that should never, ever change anyone's opinion of you. If what you choose to wear makes you happy, then that's all that really matters. And," he continued reaching for the blue-green shirt that had first captured Harry's attention in the window display, "Personally, I think this would go beautifully with your eyes."

Harry tentatively took the shirt from him, and Louis heaved a sigh of relief before bustling around the store picking up things he though would suit Harry or that he had seen catch his eye earlier on. Half an hour later, they strode out of the boutique and into the bright, sunny afternoon, large paper bag in hand. Its contents included a sheer, low-cut black blouse, the emerald and blue shirt and a lilac ruffled shirt that dipped low enough to expose Harry's brand-new butterfly tattoo. Coming from such privilege, Harry had always had money; had never really wanted for much in his life, but he was certain that he had never quite this exhilarated after buying anything before; light as though he was being buoyed up by some invisible benign force.

 

That evening, Louis stayed over with Harry at Anne's again. It had become a regular thing over the past few weeks and Anne had said she didn't mind (if anything she had had to consciously hide her delight.) It had been a wonderful day, one that Harry was sure he would never forget, but it had also been exhausting and both boys were completely knackered. After watching a film with Anne, they bade her goodnight and traipsed off to their room where they lay tangled together under the duvet, Harry's head on Louis' chest, Louis running his hand through Harry's curls in the way the younger boy adored. He was practically purring with pleasure.

Into the silence, Louis eventually asked, "Harry? What you said today - about the clothes? Did someone tell you that you shouldn't wear things like that?"

Harry exhaled deeply. "My… my parents, I guess they don't like that kind of thing, they don't like me to look… effeminate," he scrunched up his nose in disgust, "They were very strict about it and I suppose, after a while, it just stuck."

When he spoke again, Louis could hear that he was choking back tears. "They…my dad used to call me a fag and a fairy; used to tell me that I was his son, not his daughter and that I ought to 'bloody well act like it.' He regularly made sure I knew that I was a disappointment to them both, so after a while, it just didn't seem worth it anymore." "What didn't seem worth it, Haz?" "I dunno. Like trying to be…me, I guess? I learned that it wasn't worth the trouble. My dad used to hit me, in the beginning, before I figured out that it was better not to resist. As soon as I started acting in the way they wanted, it stopped."

Louis remained quiet for a moment, absorbing the new information, all the while continuing his comforting ministrations to Harry's hair.

"They didn't let me grow out my hair. Thought it made me look gay," he spat bitterly, "Well the joke's on them. I hated it but I kept it short all through my years at Eton. I'm not sure if I was more worried about them or about the other boys at school to be honest. This summer is the first time I've really been able to grow it out."

"Oh, Haz," Louis whispered, readjusting his position slightly so that he was directly facing Harry and gently cupping his cheek with his hand. "I'm so, so sorry. Just so you know, I love your hair. I think it's lovely. Always lovely and always curly." He pressed a light kiss to Harry's nose. "And more importantly, I think you, the Harry I know, the Harry who likes nail polish and has long hair and tells stupid jokes and is constantly falling over and is a completely graceless giraffe…" Harry chuckled wetly through his tears. "…. And who likes to wear beautiful things and who can't choose a mug because he's worried that the other mugs will get offended - that is the most wonderful Harry, that's the Harry I… I love."

Harry was still for a moment and then murmured, his voice barely audible: "You love me?"

"It was probably a shitty time to say it but yeah, I do. I love you, Harry." Harry felt he could explode with happiness, like he was about to overflow with joy and love and hope and all sorts of other feelings that he couldn't quite put a name to. It was all so overwhelming and terrifying and new. But in the end, it was also quite simple.

"I love you too, Lou."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> Just a little note on flashbacks:  
> As I said, I've decided to put dates on the flashbacks to help you get a better conception of the general order in which the events occurred but I want to stress that they are supposed to all be out of order.   
> What I'm getting at here is that memory is very rarely linear, there are often very large gaps in memory - or two people can remember the same thing very differently; and more often that not our memories are triggered by a particular emotion, a place, a smell, an action or something as banal as a phrase.
> 
> What I've tried to do, is to have some sort of link between what's happening in the present day, and the flashback that follows; suggesting a sort of stimuli of sorts for the flashback, if that makes sense?
> 
> Anyway, at the end of the fic somewhere, I'll put a list of how the various flashbacks actually occurred in the past, in case you'd like to have it.

Liam and Harry were back at the pub once again, two weeks having passed since Harry's first date with Greg. They had had their second date a few days after their first, just a casual coffee and a chat and then had gone to a film a couple of days after that. It was going well, everything relatively casual, and it just felt easy and good and sure. Harry thought that he really needed something 'sure' in his life right now.

Tonight, Greg had excused himself early, heading out to his sister's for the evening, and Liam and Harry - knackered from their early morning gym session, the torrential downpour they had had to wade through and the incredibly frustrating work-day - were relatively close to calling it a night as well. Liam smiled amicably up at an equally exhausted-looking Louis, who was busy wiping down the countertops.

"Tommo, you look dead," he noted sympathetically.

"Thanks mate, I appreciate it," Louis replied in mock-offence, but he was clearly so worn out that he couldn't even muster the energy to say it sarcastically. He heaved a deep sigh, started packing up his things and rooting around for his keys. "I have to open the shop at 8:30 tomorrow and what with finishing here at midnight, by the time I get home it'll be around 1:30 and then I have to be up again at 6 to beat the traffic. It's not that bad, but I've been doing it a few weeks now and I s'ppose it's finally catching up to me."

"Shit, mate, that does sound pretty awful," Liam commiserated, patting Louis consolingly on the forearm.

"And to make things worse," he grumbled gloomily, glaring out at the downpour beyond the pub's window, "My bloody umbrella broke this morning."

Harry suddenly had an idea. "Why don't you stay over at ours tonight?" he asked.

Liam fish-mouthed, obviously gob-smacked at this new turn of events, but Louis, to his credit, seemed completely unaffected. He appeared to ponder it for a moment and then said, "Well, I mean, that would be kinda great; it would give me an extra two hours sleep at least. But obviously I don't want to impose," he added quickly, obviously picking up on Liam's bewildered expression.

"No, it would be absolutely fine! It doesn't make sense for you to drive all the way out just to have to come back a few hours later. It's not a problem at all is it, Li?" Harry nudged Liam under the table, shooting him a meaningful look.

"Oh, yeah, yeah, not at all," Liam nodded.

"Legends. Alright, well I clock off now so…" Liam, Harry and Louis headed towards the door and into the downpour, before Louis smacked a hand to his forehead, saying, "Shit, I've forgot me jacket. Hang on a tick, I won't be sec."

While Louis was retrieving his jacket from the back room, Liam whirled around, gripping Harry's arm urgently. "What the fuck, man? What were you thinking?"

Harry extracted his arm from Liam's grip, annoyed. "It's not a big deal, Liam," he said haughtily, "He's our friend, he's in a bind, and we're just helping him out. I'd do the same if it were you or Niall in the same situation."

Liam's expression softened infinitesimally. "Harry," he continued urgently in an hurried undertone, "Just make sure you know what you're doing, okay? Be careful."

Harry nodded, and turned as Louis came to join them, clad in his denim jacket, the worn sheepskin-lined collar turned up against the wind.

"Alright, let's mosey lads," Harry grimaced, mustering up the courage to step out of the comfort of the smoky pub and in to the freezing rain outside. The three of them walked quickly towards the underground station, which was mercifully less than five minutes away.

When they were seated in the train car, sopping wet from the mere minutes they had been outside, Louis nudged Harry, an amused smirk playing across his lips. " _Mosey?_ " he asked with a derisive snort, "Who _are_ you, Harold?"

Harry tried very hard to ignore the soaring sensation in his lower abdomen at the sound of the familiar nickname. Liam and Niall sometimes called him Harold. It was no big deal.

"Well, I could say the same for you, you know. Seeing as you didn't want to _'impose_ '" Harry grinned, placing unnecessary emphasis on the _oh_ sound. "Since when have you been so fancy?"

"I can be eloquent too, you know," Louis huffed, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Mmm hmm," Harry grinned, "Suuuuure you can."

 

\------

 

"Right so, you should be fine I think, but if you're cold, there are extra blankets at the top of the wardrobe. Although, shit," Harry smirked, "You won't be able to reach them."

Louis pushed Harry, a look of mock-outrage on his face. "How very dare you, you great lump! Sorry that we can't all be biological anomalies," he said, poking Harry in the chest. "I, personally, am eternally grateful that I was _not_ made a cross between a giraffe and a baby deer learning to ice-skate," he sniffed indignantly.

Harry giggled and raised his hands, admitting defeat. "All right, all right, I will refrain from offending your delicate sensibilities from now on. There are some spare joggers and t-shirts in the draw if you'd like and I can run your clothes through the dryer if you'd like so they'll be dry for tomorrow morning."

"Thanks mate."

Harry walked towards the door. "Pleasure. Oh, and Louis?"

Louis looked up. "Yeah?"

"There's a little ladder-stool in the bathroom if you need to reach anything."

"You little…"

Harry danced away, cackling maniacally, shutting the door behind him. As Harry laid in bed that night, snug and warm beneath his plush down duvet, he felt inexplicably happy, as though everything was _just right_ in that moment.

 

\------

 

"I genuinely can't remember the last time you made these," Liam mumbled through a mouthful of pancake, "They're sooo good," he moaned obscenely.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You're ridiculous."

He flipped the last pancake onto the plate, setting aside a little bowl of blueberry syrup, just like he remembered Louis liked it. "And you're also full of shit. I'm pretty sure I've made them recently, it's just that you're always on some sort of health kick so you never participate," he sniffed.

"Could just do with this more often," he shrugged "S'all I'm saying."

"Oooooh pancakes!" Louis exclaimed, wandering into the kitchen, "My favourite!"

"Oh, I get it now," Liam smirked, shooting a pointed look in Harry's direction, which was resolutely ignored.

"Tea's on the table." _Yorkshire with a splash of milk, no sugar, just how you like it,_ he had to stop himself from saying. _Of course_ Harry still remembered exactly how Louis took his tea, even after all these years, but he knew better than to refer to anything that could dredge up memories from their past. Harry kept an old box of Yorkshire tea at the back of their kitchen cupboard, tucked behind the biscuits. Neither he nor Liam drank Yorkshire.

"Thanks, mate, I appreciate it", Louis said gratefully, sitting down opposite Liam and pulling his tea and the plate of pancakes towards him. Liam wandered off to brush his teeth as Harry began tidying up, leaving the pan in the sink to soak and chucking the rest of the crockery in the dishwasher.

They would have to leave in ten minutes in order to get to the office on time. Harry was dreading the day ahead as it was sure to be an absolute shit-storm - his morning would start with a meeting with the pretentious executive arsehole du jour, followed by a budget and progress report meeting with his father and the accountant and then another tedious meeting with the partners in the afternoon.

"Harry?" Louis voice broke through Harry's train of thought.

"Yeah?"

"I really do mean it you know. I appreciate you letting me stay. I know it's not…" he gestured around vaguely, as though the end of his sentence could be found somewhere in the pancake-scented air. Harry knew that Louis was referring to the awkwardness of the whole situation; the fact that the love of Harry's life and the subject of his 6-year long pining was currently seated at his kitchen counter, eating his pancakes in a completely platonic bro-dude-pal-lad capacity.

"It's alright, Lou - it's what I'd do for any of my friends," he smiled kindly, if a little uncomfortably.

 

\------

 

**14 July 2012**

"Lou?"

Louis looked up from where he was drying the last of the dishes. "Yeah?"

"So, I was thinking… would you um… wouldyoumaybeliketohangoutwi'me?" he exhaled all in one breath.

"Um?," Louis replied, clearly nonplussed, "Um… I mean, we hang out all the time… we're hanging out right now - unless I've got something wrong somehow and you're secretly exploiting me for my outstanding dish-drying skills?"

"No, no, that's uh… that's not what I meant," Harry rushed, blushing furiously. "I mean like out out… as in like a, uh, a date?" Louis eyes widened in comprehension. "Oh shit," Harry babbled quickly, "I read this wr.. never mind Lou, just forget it, I - "

"I would _love_ to, Haz" Louis said softly, smiling gently, his eyes all crinkled up at the corners, "A real proper date with my Haz…" he mused softly, drawing closer and resting his hands on Harry's waist, looking up at him earnestly. Harry preened internally at Louis calling him _his_ , and had to physically suppress a squeak at Louis agreeing to the date. It had all felt so stupid and ridiculous earlier on when he had been practicing asking the question a few times in front of the bathroom mirror.

"Gr… great," Harry replied, a little breathlessly, his attention still trained on the delicate fingers curled around his waist, "So…um, tomorrow then?"

"Sure," Louis agreed, easily. "Best be getting home though now love, mum'll be needing some help wi' the girls I reckon."

He placed a tender kiss to Harry's lips, gave his waist one last squeeze and headed out of Anne's house with a little wave.

After only two weeks of having known Louis and only four days of having been kissed by him, Harry still felt a dizzying sense of euphoria each time they shared a kiss or held hands or used pet names for each other. He was certain that the memory of their first kiss was unlikely to ever be erased from his mind.

They had both returned home to Anne's once Louis had finished work at the tattoo parlour and Harry his shift at Le Café Papillon and were lounging on the sofa playing a game of scrabble (at Harry's suggestion, obviously.)

"I can't believe you've never played scrabble before, you weirdo" Harry commented contentedly as he added HARE onto an s to create 'SHARE.'

"Oh yes, I'm the weird one," Louis said sarcastically, "This is coming from the 18-year old who insisted we stay in and play scrabble on a Friday evening."

"Heeeeeeey!" Harry whined.

"Don't pout, it doesn't do you any favours."

"Oi!" Harry pounced on Louis, wrestling him playfully to the ground, and the two boys quickly became a hysterically-giggling tangle of limbs, each trying half-heartedly to wrestle the other into submission. Harry was straddling Louis triumphantly, pinning his arms by his head and crowing with delight when time seemed to slow for a moment; the air completely quiet but for the heavy pant of their breaths. Harry suddenly became very aware of his hands pressing down on Loui's wrists and his thighs tucked around his hips. He looked into Louis' blue, blue eyes and thought to himself: _what if I just kissed him?_

The next moment, Louis had extracted his right arm from Harry's slackened grip and reached for his cheek, pulling Harry down gently for a soft brush of lips. As the contact between their lips broke, their faces so close still that their noses were practically touching, Harry fully realized what was happening and stuttered,

"I…I'm n-not, I'm not g-gay."

"Okay," Louis agreed calmly.

But when Harry didn't stop gazing into Louis' eyes or make any move to retract his face from above Louis', or even to settle into a less compromising position, Louis pulled him in once again, cradling Harry's jaw in the palm of his hand. The kiss was different this time, still so loving and tender, but now with an added urgency that sent a tingle of exhilaration through Harry's spine. He parted his lips to allow Louis' tongue access and couldn't help letting out light groan at the feeling of Louis' deft tongue darting and exploring, licking into the heat of Harry's mouth. He let his hands roam, moved one up to rest in Louis' silky gold hair and the flitted the other across his collarbone and down his smooth, tattooed arm.

After a few delicious minutes, Louis broke the kiss, aware that it was in danger of becoming something more; something that perhaps Harry wasn't ready for; propping himself up and gently guiding Harry off of his lap. Since that night, Louis still hadn't mentioned what Harry had said mid-kiss, but after having accepted to go on an actual date, Harry was sure the topic was bound to come up.

 

\------

 

 Harry had been right; it had been a day out of hell. When it finally reached its end, he was more than ready to be curled on the sofa with Liam, preferably with some takeout and a cheesy rom-com.

As he and Liam were leaving the office, Greg rounded the corner.

"Hiya Harry!" he greeted.

Harry had barely seen him today; had been in and out of meetings the entire time, meaning he hadn't had much need for his help in any case, and so had relegated him to Liam's service. He felt a little guilty for some reason.

"I was wondering if you wanted to catch dinner maybe?"

Harry groaned a little internally. It's not that he didn't want to see Greg, as such, it was more that he was feeling completely worn out and therefore the thought of staying in and falling asleep halfway through Titanic appealed to him far more than having to dress up and sit through an entire meal at a restaurant.

Harry realized that his reluctance must be clearly writ across his face, as Greg quickly amended, "Or how about just a quick pint?"

He nodded. A quick drink he could do - as long as it was promptly followed up by an early night - and so, the two men headed off to the pub for a pint, neither of them really needing a coat in the pleasant April air.

 

\------

Harry seemed to be settling into quite a regular routine. Saturday mornings were spent at the tattoo shop with Zayn, Louis and often Liam as well; Mondays were drinks with Liam and Niall at the pub; Tuesday's, Wednesdays and Fridays tended to be date night or time spent at Greg's and Thursdays were dinner and drinks at the pub and Louis staying overnight at theirs. Harry had always quite liked routine; he found that it had served him well over the last few years: if everything had its allocated time and space, then there was far less margin for error or possibility for disappointment, upset or stress.

His first four months as a partner had passed surprisingly quickly, and Harry had yet to pull all his hair out or go and live with the goats in Nepal, so he counted that as a win. He had everything he objectively needed; a nice flat, a respectable job, good friends and a kind and easy-going boyfriend. It worked for him.

His friendship with Zayn seemed to have completely recovered now and Harry loved to spend his Saturdays watching him and Louis work, Zayn occasionally showing him some of his new sketches or asking for his opinion on miscellaneous design ideas. It also felt wonderful to have Louis in his life once again; no one had ever quite understood him the way Louis had.

It had only been rather recently that he and Greg had actually made things official. It wasn't a big emotional gesture, or even a conscious decision really. They had been at a dinner with a bunch of Niall's friends and Harry was hesitating on how to introduce Greg; eventually - after shooting a questioning look in his direction, that was met with a nod of assent - settling on 'my boyfriend.' He liked to stay over at Greg's place, to have someone to cuddle into at night and to kiss at the end of a frustrating work day.

 

On Saturday morning Greg was over at Harry and Liam's and the three of them were getting ready for a brunch at the pub that Niall had invited them to. Over the phone an exuberant Niall had said (well yelled, actually) that he had some 'big news' but that it was a surprise - although Harry was pretty certain it could only be one of two things.

"Is this shirt alright, babe?" Greg asked, walking into the bathroom where Harry was artfully ruffling his hair. Its short length meant that his options were very limited, but he did try to at least make it look a little less straight-laced then how he had it during the week for work.

Harry looked over Greg's navy shirt and smiled, "It's perfect. Will you be ready to leave in 5?"

"Sure." Greg pecked him on the cheek and left the room to locate his jacket and keys.

 

"Ladies and gents," Niall's voice boomed from the head of the table, where he was beaming, wine glass in hand. There were about twelve or so of Niall's closest friends there, including Ed, Louis, Harry and Liam. Greg had come as Harry's plus one. "Hailee and I," he beamed down fondly at Hailee, who was slightly pink at all the attention and trying not to snort with laughter at Niall's over-the-top pomposity, "Are getting hitched!"

A roar of approval erupted from around the table, those closest to Niall thumping him on the back enthusiastically, everyone shouting their congratulations.

"Told you," Harry raised his eyebrows at Liam and Louis, both of whom had been unconvinced when Harry had tried to tell them this was coming over a week ago, when Niall had first invited them.

After a few hours of drinks, great pub food and good conversation, Harry and Greg were about ready to go home and went off to congratulate and bid goodbye to the spouses to be.

"Nialler!" Harry growled, pulling Niall in to a bear hug, "Good for you mate, I'm really happy for you. She's a keeper."

Niall just beamed, and Harry moved on to hug Hailee, saying, in an exaggerated stage whisper, "You hurt him, I'll be after you, missy" to which both Hailee and Niall cackled with laughter.

As they left the crowd of cheerful, tipsy people and headed down the street, Harry reached out to grasp Greg's hand but was surprised to see an absent-looking Greg pull his hand away. Harry stopped in his tracks, confused by the unusual turn of events. "Something the matter?" Greg was silent for a moment and then sighed heavily. He looked very much like he did not want to be having this conversation right now. "Yeah, there is Harry. I think we need to talk. Maybe once we're back at yours?" Harry nodded, a sinking sensation in his chest.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SMUT SMUT SMUT
> 
> This was a monster of a chapter to write. Enjoy!!!!!
> 
> I think this fic is going to be about 11 or 12 chapters long plus an epilogue, but if I’m feeling self indulgent it may get a little longer

"Harry? Are you alright?" came Liam's voice from where he was peeking around the doorframe.

"Um, I think so?" Harry answered, still not entirely sure himself. "Come sit," he called, gesturing for Liam to join him on the couch.

"What happened, mate?" Liam asked as he sank down onto the sofa beside Harry, his eyes clouded with concern. Liam had walked in just as Greg was leaving, and from the tears on his face and the lack of greeting, he had immediately pegged that something was up.

"He broke up with me."

"Shit Haz! I'm really sorry man. Are you ok?"

Harry wasn't a hundred percent sure how he felt, if he was being perfectly honest with himself. He wasn't angry or upset as such, he just felt numb and rather foolish. "Well…" he paused, "I think I am, actually. I guess I just feel a bit stupid for not seeing it coming, really."

Liam sighed. "Yeah, mate, look - obviously I don't want to make things worse or anything - but to be honest, I kinda saw this one coming."

"You did?" Harry looked up, brows furrowed.

"Come on Harry, give me some credit here. I'm your best mate, yeah? I've seen what you're like when you're really into someone, I've seen you sleep around…"

"Alright, alright…" Harry began huffily.

"You know that's not what I was getting at," Liam interrupted gently. "What I mean is, Harry, is that I know you, yeah? I was kind of surprised you weren't able to see it for yourself."

"See what?"

Harry asked in exasperation. "Harry… when you like someone, you tend to become even more of a goofy mushball then usual, like an extra-domestic and clingy version of yourself. I even saw it with a couple of the guys that you were seeing for like, I dunno, a month or so at Uni: your life tends to lose its structure completely, and you'll rearrange everything around them; that's your pattern, mate."

Liam paused for a second, clearly deciding on whether or not to say what he had planned, "And it's not just romantically, you know? You never, like never talked about him to us. I've seen you happier on seeing Niall, or Ed or Anne, when she comes up to see you. It's like… Harry, no offence mate, but you're shit at hiding your emotions. When you see someone you care about, you light up. And I don't think I ever saw that happen with Greg"

Harry was quiet, taking in what Liam was saying and mulling it over, trying to make sense of the words. Shit, he really was the worst. He couldn't believe how blind he had been, how he had let himself string along poor, well-intentioned Greg for so long.

"With Greg, you never once obsessed about labels, I never once saw you get nervous or paranoid, let alone even talk about him to your mates when he wasn't there. You were together three months and you barely saw him three times a week, nor did you actually make the effort to."

Harry wasn't offended. To anyone else, and in any other situation, Liam's words could be considered harsh, but Harry understood what his friend was trying to say, and more importantly, he couldn't disagree with it either. Harry wasn't completely oblivious, he had realized that his relationship with Greg hadn't been the fiery, passionate, irregular one he had had once before but he had simply assumed that a.) that had more to do with Louis and Greg's respective personalities and b.) that this was what a stable relationship with a mature adult should be like.

"You're right, Li," Harry conceded with a sigh, "I don't think I mean for that to be the case; I guess it just sorta happened that way, y'know? It kinda makes me feel like a shitty person though."

"No, Harry, don't say that, you shouldn't feel like a shitty person. I just think you haven't had the best of luck in this department and you didn't quite recognize things for what they were. On the plus side, you're not a sobbing wreck, so silver linings, y'know?" He grinned. "What did he tell you by the way, when he … you know?"

"He told me that he was falling in love with me," Harry said matter-of-factly.

"No shit!" Liam whistled.

Harry grimaced. "…. and that he knew I wasn't falling for him. He said that he couldn't just keep waiting around, holding out hope that I might eventually feel the same way, that he cares for and respects me but that he couldn't handle me being so distant. I didn't even realize I was being distant," Harry concluded, pensively.

Liam said nothing, just rubbed Harry's back comfortingly.

"He's right you know," Harry said after a while.

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't love him. I didn't love him, and I wasn't falling either. I don't think I could ever really have fallen, looking back on it now. Jesus, I'm a piece of shit."

"You're not Harry, you just weren't in love with him. Not falling in love with someone doesn't automatically make you a piece of shit."

"I love you, Haz" Liam said after a moment and pulled Harry in for a hug.

"Love you too, Payno."

For so long, Liam had been everything for him; his best friend, his confidante, his surrogate family. Harry didn't have parents that he could go to with his romantic woes, and so the task had always fallen to Liam. He still saw Anne occasionally when he drove up to Donny for a weekend, or she came up to London, and chatting with her often gave Harry a much needed outside perspective, but for the day-to-day shoulder to cry on, Liam had always been the man for the job.

Harry didn't answer, just switched on the telly and flicked through the channels until he landed on a rerun of last week's Bake-Off episode. They both had work to do, but they stayed side by side on the sofa, watching Paul Hollywood criticize puff-pastry, until Harry drifted off to sleep on Liam's shoulder.

 

\-----

 

**2 June 2012**

"Harry!" Anne exclaimed as she flung open the front door and engulfed him in a bone-breaking hug, "Oh sweetheart I've missed you!" she said, and she drew back, beaming, Harry's jaw cupped in her work-worn hands. "You look thin, honey," she said worriedly. " 'Ve they not been feedin' you up there at that fancy pants school o' yours?"

She turned, ushering Harry in through the entrance hall and fussing around with his jacket and bags.

"Don't fuss, Anne, let me do it," he chuckled.

She was always so chirpy and full of energy; always ready to help out and make other comfortable; sometimes at the expense of her own comfort. He hung up his jacket on its usual hanger in the hall closet, toed off his Chelsea boots and set down his bags at the bottom of the stairs; then followed Anne into the familiar cosy sitting room.

"Tea?"she called from the adjoining kitchen as Harry was settling in an armchair.

"Let me," he called out in reply, pushing up off the chair to go and help in the kitchen. "I'm coming."

"Oh Harry, don't be silly! You're my guest."

Harry just fixed her with his most stubborn glare and she rolled her eyes in surrender. "All right, all right," she grumbled as Harry set about preparing the tray of tea and biscuits. He knew his way around this kitchen better than his own at home.

When they were comfortably seated in the lounge, cups of tea in hand, Anne asked: "So what's up, sweetheart?"

Harry looked up in surprise. "Nothing's up. I love coming to visit you, you know; don't need a special reason," he said, admittedly a little hurt at the suggestion.

"Oh, honey, that's not what I meant at all," she assured him, "It's just that you've just finished secondary school and you're spending the summer down wi' me in Donny when you could be, I don' know, jetting around, having the summer o' your life an' all that. And what's more, you're looking beat, love."

Harry sighed. There was no point in lying to Anne, she always saw right through him. "I couldn't do it," he eventually admitted, in the smallest voice. "Couldn't stay with my parents this time. I've tried and I've tried and for so long - at home, at school - I've been who I'm supposed to be and rubbed noses with the people I'm supposed to and been interested in the sort of things I'm supposed to be interested in… and I just wanted one summer… away from it all." Harry noted, to his embarrassment, that tears had begun to drip from his cheeks.

"Oh, baby," Anne cooed, setting down her tea and moving over to hug Harry again. She didn't really have to say anything; she knew everything about Harry's parents: their views, their lives, their priorities, the way they treated Harry and expected him to behave. She knew too how much Harry had hated Eton, the pretention of it all and the feeling that he always had to watch his back, well aware that the boys there couldn't be trusted.

"Listen, my love. Just know that you will always have that here, ok? You can be whoever you want to be, and I'll always be here to listen and to love you." She chucked his chin up, like she used to do when he was little. "Alright?"

Harry chuckled wetly, "Alright, alright," he agreed, rolling his eyes, "Enough with the sappy stuff."

 

Anne's little house became his home for the summer. There was nothing particularly remarkable about it, but it was the only place that Harry had ever felt at home, and Anne was the only person he had every really trusted. Harry would be working at a little coffee shop and bakery called _Le Café Papillon_ and spending his weekends enjoying the unseasonably warm summer.

 

On Harry's first day working at the café, everything seemed to be going wrong. Given his relatively privileged upbringing, he had never actually had this sort of job before, and it seemed that literally anything that had the potential to go south, was doing just that. He had definitely been thrown in at the deep end; it was a Monday morning and the pre-work breakfast rush was absolute mayhem; the little French bakery and coffee shop was bustling with people in a rush to get to work. By 9am, a mere two hours after he had started working, Harry was just about ready to say, _fuck this shit, I'm out,_ when a small curvy man with a cluster of piercings in his left ear and soft tufts of caramel hair swayed up to the counter.

The rush had thankfully slowed down as the commuters, businesspeople and mums had all already had their hit, and so Harry had the time to get a proper look at the stranger. His twinkling sapphire-blue eyes were framed with a touch of dark eyeliner, and many tattoos littered his tanned arms.

"Um.. hello," Harry eventually remembered to say, "What can I get for you, sir?"

The man snorted with surprised laughter but when Harry remained still, looking quizzically up at him, he stopped and said, "Sorry! 'S just no one's ever called me _sir_ before. Do I look like a _sir_?" he asked, drawing himself up to his full height (which was still admittedly not very tall) and puffing out his chest dramatically.

"Ummm…."

"Just playing around, Curly."

Harry could feel his cheeks redden and internally cursed himself for being so awkward and hopeless at social interactions. The man seemed to take pity on him and cut to the chase.

"I'd like a Yorkshire tea, splash o' milk, no sugar and a black coffee please."

"Sure thing. Name?" Harry asked politely.

"What, you're not gonna put _sir_ on there?" the man teased, gesturing to the cup in Harry's hand. Yep, Harry was definitely scarlet now, he could feel it.

"Um…"

"It's Louis." Just as Harry turned to fill up the cup with hot water, he felt a searing pain in his hand. He wasn't sure exactly what happened, but he guessed he must have knocked the lever of the tap by accident, and now he stood stock-still with shock, cradling his scalded, throbbing hand. The man - Louis - sprang into action.

"Shit mate," he hurried behind the bar, and Harry was in too much shock and pain to even point out that he wasn't allowed back there. "Here," he said, gently guiding a shocked Harry towards the sink and turning on the cold water. When he was satisfied that it was cold enough he guided Harry's hand under the cool stream. Harry winced. "I know, _I know_ , it hurts," Louis clucked in sympathy, "Shit, curly, you've really burned it badly. I think I may have some burn cream in my first-aid kit somewhere…. I can fetch it; I only work across the road?"

"No, no it's fine," Harry said immediately. The stranger had already gone out of his way to help him; Harry wasn't going to inconvenience him any further than he already had just because he was stupid and clumsy.

"Hmmm…" Louis hummed sceptically, "All right then, if you insist. Be careful with that hand though alright?"

And with that, the beautiful enigma of a boy turned on his heel and walked towards the exit.

"Wait! Your drinks…?" Harry called after him.

"Don' worry 'bout it, Curly!" he replied.

 

\-----

 

It was a Thursday evening, a full five days since the break up and Harry, for the life of him, just couldn't seem to be able to fall asleep. He had had a relatively decent few days at work; things _had_ been a little awkward obviously, but he had been given surprisingly good cases - at least surprisingly few douchebags - to deal with. But for some reason, he just hadn't been sleeping lately. He knew it wasn't because of the breakup - even _he_ wasn't so out of tune with his emotions that he couldn't see that - so he just couldn't place what it was.

He had just been tossing and turning in his bed, so he took up refuge in the sitting room, sitting cross-legged on the carpet, his back against the sofa; hoping that maybe the change in scenery would help in some way. He had his earphones in, and was listening to a playlist of the calmest music he could find.

"Can't sleep either?"

Harry looked up at the sound of Louis voice, high-pitched and raspy with sleep. He had his glasses perched on his nose and his hair was sticking up in all directions, in the way that reminded Harry of a disgruntled sleeping kitten. Harry extracted an earphone and smiled tiredly up at Louis.

"Nah," he sighed, patting the carpet beside him for Louis to sit down.

"I see you're still listening to all that hipster indie bullshit," Louis noted with a glance at Harry's phone.

"It is _not_ hipster bullshit!" Harry rolled his eyes.

"Hmm well, I suppose you're entitled to your wrong opinion," he shrugged.

"Cheeky!" Harry grinned and shoved Louis who pretended to fall dramatically to the floor. "So, What's keeping you up?" Harry asked.

Louis rubbed his eyes wearily. "Shop's stressing me out," he admitted.

"I thought you said it was going well?"

"It is… it's just… It's costing a lot more than we had originally thought - there's always something you know? And we just don't have the sufficient client base yet to balance it out."

"Yeah, but you've only just started out here Lou. It's _London_ , it was always bound to be harder. But I'm sure it'll pick up soon, yeah, as soon as people start to see your work on their friends, the buzz'll be out there."

"God, I hope so," Louis replied tiredly, "But thanks for your faith in us, Haz, I appreciate it."

Harry nodded, offering Louis his beer.

"It's four in the morning!" Louis snorted, incredulously.

"Yeah but I can't sleep. Thought this might help. Hasn't, yet," he shrugged.

Louis chuckled hoarsely. "May I ask why you're still up then?"

Harry considered for a moment. He could easily make something up. But he was just so, _so_ tired and he figured that Louis would find out at some point anyway, so.

"Greg and I broke up."

"Oh?" Louis didn't look surprised

"Yeah," Harry grimaced, "Apparently everyone but me saw it coming," he shrugged again.

"I'm sorry mate. Are you doing ok though?"

"Yeah, I'm fine actually. Those kinds of things just make you think, you know? Don't like having to get too introspective," he said, draining the dregs of his beer.

"Still. I'm sorry though."

"Thanks mate."

They stayed quiet for a long moment, seated side by side on the living room carpet, backs against the sofa, neither one of them wanting to break the calm that surrounded them. After a few painful moments of hesitation and internal struggle Harry cautiously rested his head on Louis's shoulder, and when Louis didn't tense up, but rather relaxed into the touch, he took it as a sign that this form of platonic affection was okay. Louis wrapped an arm around Harry's lower back, and Harry could feel a comforting warmth emanating from the point of contact. They stayed like that, Harry calmed by the sound of their breaths rising and falling in sync.

 

Then: "Harry? Can I ask you a question?" Louis extracted his arm and looked up at Harry.

"I believe you just did," Harry said, waggling his eyebrows, though he doubted Louis could see through the pitch black.

"Oh sod off, you twat," Louis shot back, grinning, pushing him gently.

"Yeah, course, Lou."

"What happened to your hair?"

Harry ran a hand through said hair ruefully, saying, "I think you know the answer to that question, don't you?"

"Your dad?"

"Yeah. I work for him now, so I don't have a choice really; haven't worn it long since Uni but 'm used to it now."

"I miss it long," Louis said gently, reaching his hand out tentatively to run it through Harry's hair. "It was beautiful, you know?" he whispered, seemingly off in his own world. "Not that it looks bad now," he added quickly, "It's just that it was so… you." He smiled a little sadly.

"Yeah," Harry croaked, "But as I said, I don't really have a choice."

"You always have a choice, Harry. Always."

 

\-----

 

Despite what had happened following Niall's celebratory brunch, the next two weeks passed more or less as usual for Harry and Liam, except that the time usually spent with Greg was instead dedicated to the gym or more time at the tattoo shop. He hadn't told anyone except Liam and Louis, but no one had commented on Greg's absence as of yet, so he thought he'd just leave it a while longer until it got brought up. Things were a little awkward at the office, but Greg - ever the consummate professional - seemed able to let things go for the sake of his job, something which was of immense relief to Harry. Additionally, their break-up had been as close to an amicable one as it was possible to be; there had been no accusations, screaming or hurling of insults. All in all - Harry was a little embarrassed to admit - it had had only a very marginal impact on his life.

 

Nevertheless, on finally relaying the news to Niall over a pint two Friday's after the event, his two mates had decided to drag Harry out that evening, to, in Niall's words, "get your ho on.", insisting that it was a 'necessary step in the healing process.' Harry didn't think his eyes had ever rolled quite as far back in his head as they did then. _Pfft_ , his mates just wanted a good excuse to go and get pissed like they teenagers again.

"I'll give Hailee a ring, but should be able to come, far as I know, and I know Ed's been itching to go out. Liam, why dontcha call up Zayn and Louis?"

Liam cast Harry a questioning look at Harry, who just shrugged. "S'fine. As long as we don't have to tell everyone the inspiration for this impromptu club night, then I'm game."

 

One moment, a tipsy Harry, Niall and Liam were doing the chicken dance together, Niall bellowing with laughter, and the next Harry found himself alone on the dancefloor. Across the room he could see a tall, dark-haired lad, wide-set with a neatly groomed beard and dark eyes, clearly looking in his direction and checking him out. Harry was feeling good, he was slightly drunk and was in the mood to get close with a handsome stranger. He strode across the floor towards the bar, hips swaying and eyes trained on the dark-haired man. The stranger looked Harry up and down as though appraising a piece of art. Usually this sort of blatant ogling would irritate him, but Harry was feeling free and elated, keen for the first time in ages to get off with a random stranger.

"You can interact with the exhibit you know." Harry smirked, hip cocked, casually leaning against the bar.

The man let out a throaty laugh. "You're a cheeky one, aren't you?" His voice was deep and velvety, possibly even deeper than Harry's own.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked.

"Ah you don't beat about the bush do you, uh…?"

"Jeff. No, I don't. I see something I like, I go for it; seems like you're the same, considering that _you_ came up to _me_ ," he pointed out.

"Touché"

"So?"

"So, what?"

"The drink?"

"Hmmm… I'd say I've had enough for the moment, but I would be up for a dance, if you're game."

Jeff abandoned his drink on the counter, and took Harry's hand, leading him out onto the crowded dancefloor. His eyes closed, he ground his arse back against Jeff, his arm wound the man's neck. He was holding Harry tight around the waist and was sucking on his earlobe. Harry could feel Jeff's hard cock straining against his arse and felt himself begin to harden too.

After some time dancing like this, Jeff whispered in his ear, "Want to get out of here?"

"Yes" Harry answered hoarsely, turning around to see Jeff's pupils blown wide with want. Harry was leading him towards the exit, when suddenly he felt someone grab his shoulder and whirl him around. Louis' livid face was staring back at him.

" _What?_ " Harry asked, a little rudely.

"Come with me. Now." He ordered, voice dangerously calm.

"Um, not sure if you can tell, but I'm a little busy at the moment." He gestured towards Jeff who was leaning against his side, one hand venturing down from his lower back towards his arse.

"Yes, I can see that. Come with me, now," He repeated.

Harry looked helplessly at Jeff and shrugged helplessly. "Sorry, man. Another time."

Harry followed Louis outside the club, leaving Jeff behind, jaw gaping open, his hand still outstretched as though groping a phantom arse.

 

"What?" Harry spat.

"What the fuck are you doing, Harry?"

"In case you had forgotten, Louis, I am single. I'm perfectly within my rights to fuck _whoever I bloody well like._ "

"It's been two weeks."

"Since when did _you_ care?"

"This isn't like you, Harry. You would've regretted it."

Harry snorted derisively. "Don't you _dare_ tell me how you think I'd feel; unless you'd forgotten, you don't have that right anymore. _Friends_ can't tell _friends_ who they can and can't shag."

"You deserve better than that dickhead." Louis glared.

"Oh really? And who are _you_ to judge? Who would _your highness_ deem good enough for me to shag." Louis was completely silent, staring up at Harry who was still seething with rage.

Louis surged forward, gripping Harry's jaw and pressing him up against the brick wall, pressing his lips to his, his other hand finding its familiar niche in Harry's waist. With a sharp intake of breath Harry threaded one hand through Louis hair, tugging slightly and rested the other on Louis arse. They broke away for a moment, both panting heavily, eyes wide. Harry felt like the wind had been knocked out of him; his heart racing a mile a minute.

" _Me_ " Louis whispered breathlessly, "You should be with me." Harry joined their lips, their kiss urgent and searching, opening his lips to grant Louis' tongue access, darting and flicking in the way that had always driven Harry mad. The had on Louis' arse squeezed slightly, and he felt Louis press his groin up towards his own, a shudder running through his body.

"Fuck Haz, I want…"

"Me too, Lou," he replied, eyes almost exclusively pupil. Louis nodded and grabbed Louis by the hand, hailing down a nearby taxi and muttering his address to the driver. The whole way there, Harry was jittery, the air charged with potent lust and suffocating sexual tension, Louis' hand resting dangerously high up on his thigh, his thumb periodically rubbing back and forth. They practically fell though the apartment door, Harry haphazardly shutting it behind him and pressing Louis immediately up against the wall of the hallway. He had wanted to lick along the lines of Louis' collarbones and press kisses in the delicate little hollows there for so, _so_ long and now he finally could. He sucked little kisses across the delicate bones and gradually worked his way up Louis' neck until he found that special spot, sucking hard, working a mark into the hollow beneath his ear. Louis groaned obscenely, the sound sending more blood to Harry's cock.

"Bedroom. Now." Harry said, eyes still pitch dark.

They stumbled hurriedly to Harry's room, Louis falling back on the duvet, and Harry crawling up his body, hovering over him on all fours.

"Why are you still dressed?" Harry asked.

"I dunno. Why are _you_?"

"Don't be a shit," Harry grinned, making quick work of Louis' shirt and jeans, before slipping his own blouse over his head. He dipped his head back down to kiss Louis filthily, sloppy and desperate, nibbling at his bottom lip and groaning as Louis tugged on his hair. He raised himself up, gazing down at the gorgeous boy laid out beneath him. He was at once the beautiful, young Louis of his youth and the older rugged man, the embodiment of pure sex. Harry wanted to explore every inch of this new Louis' body with his tongue, wanted to bite around each of his new tattoos, rest his face in the soft, sparse hairs on his chest.

"Fuck Harry, I need.."

"What do you need, baby?"

"Anything, _anything_. Fuck Harry you look so good," he moaned, his body arching up into where Harry was kissing a trail down from his belly button to the edge of his boxers.

" _Please_ " he begged.

"Love it when you beg" Harry teased. He pulled down Louis' boxers, and his cock sprung free, red and painfully hard. "So, so beautiful," Harry whispered, and then pressed a kiss to the tip. He swirled his tongue around the slit and then licked one, long strip along the vein running the underside of Louis' cock.

"Stop…ah…teasing"

In one swift motion, Harry took Louis all the way down, his cheeks hollowed, sucking up from base to tip and sinking all the way down again. Louis' gasp went straight to Harry's cock, which was rock hard by now, each little moan and gasp and involuntary twitch getting Harry hotter and hotter, so close to coming just from the sight and sound of Louis coming undone beneath him.

"I'm close" Louis gasped.

Harry sped up, squeezing the base of Louis' cock with his hand and Louis came, hot and thick down Harry's throat, his entire body shuddering with the release. Harry swallowed it all in one, tracing his finger around his mouth to collect the remaining cum and then sucking his fingers clean.

'Fuck Haz, so hot," Louis panted, "Here, lemme-" But within two quick strokes Harry was coming too, spurting across Louis' _It is what it is_ tattoo and then collapsing beside him. They lay still, both panting and trying to catch their breaths. Harry got up reluctantly to fetch a washcloth and gently wiped Louis' chest clean. Louis turned on his side to face Harry, reaching out a hand to cup his cheek.

"I've wanted this for so long," he confessed.

"Me too," Harry whispered. He pressed one last, sleepy kiss to Louis' lips and then turned his back, shifting backwards so that Louis could curl around him like he always had. Harry fell asleep with the soft tickle of Louis' breaths on his neck and his arm draped over his waist; his breaths evening out in time with Louis'.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we address the fallout of H and L's drunken *mistake, and there's a little bit of filler I'm afraid.
> 
> A note on flashbacks:
> 
> Not sure whether or not this is coming accross but as well as filling in the details of H & L's past, I really want the flashbacks to illustrate the ways in which the characters have changed over time and as a result of the influence of the other. Often a flashback will follow a similar situation in the present, used in juxtaposition to show how the characters have developed. The evolution I envisioned was really that of vulnerable insecure Harry that cares what people think (Think early post x-factor Harry) to the quirky, dorky self-confident Harry of today (think Gucci suits and dad-dancing)
> 
> Also the song I mention in this chapter is 'Talia' from King Princess' album 'Make my bed.' She is absolutely incredible and so underrated and I would 100 percent recommend you listen to the whole album.
> 
> So much love  
> x

When Harry woke up the next morning, he was alone.

He strained his ears for the sound of water running in the bathroom or even something cooking in the kitchen but was met with nothing. The side of the bed where Louis had slept was empty, the sheets cold; and nothing remained as proof of what had happened the night before.

His head throbbing, Harry rooted around in his bedside drawer for some aspirin. Louis had left. They had slept together again, after six years, and then Louis had just vanished. He felt oddly empty, as though his grief were muted by a hazy disbelief and shame.

He didn't want to get up; wanted to stay in bed all day and hide, but he knew he should get some liquids and a bit of sustenance in him, so he ambled into the kitchen, taking some eggs out of the fridge and switching on the kettle. A soft pad of feet came up behind him, and for one glorious second, Harry thought it must be Louis, here after all, but when he turned he saw a hungover and sleep-rumpled Liam. Harry laid down the spatula he had been holding, and suddenly, out of nowhere he burst into loud sobs.

"Oh Harry" Liam surged forward, enveloping him in his arms. Harry stood there for a moment, Liam patiently letting him cry all over him, drenching his t-shirt, murmuring reassurances and rubbing his back consolingly. "What happened, Harry?" he asked.

When Harry finally felt composed enough to let go, he pulled back and answered in a thin, wavering voice, "Louis… I slept with Louis last night."

Harry didn't need to say anything; Liam could fill in the rest of the blanks off of the fact that there was no Louis to be seen and that Harry was standing alone in the kitchen, crying his eyes out.

"Harry, how about I make us some tea and we'll sit down and you can tell me about it," Liam suggested softly.

Harry nodded. Liam came to join Harry on the sofa carrying two mugs of steaming hot tea. He didn't probe, merely handed Harry his tea and waited patiently for Harry to speak first.

"I was with another guy and it was getting... y'know, and then he pulled me away and we got into an argument and then… then he kissed me, and it just sort of escalated from there and we came back here and…"

"And you slept together?"

Harry nodded. "And everything was so good and I thought it could be just like before and then I woke up and..."

"He was gone," Liam finished for him sadly. "Shit, Haz" Liam whistled, "I'm really sorry. To be honest, I've worried for quite a while that something like this might happen, especially after Greg, but I didn't realize he was going to be such a dick about it,"

They were both quiet for a little while, Harry's tears having dried up and been replaced with a blank, empty stare that was almost worse. "I just didn't think, after everything, that I'd be nothing more than a cheap fuck to him, you know?" Harry said in a quiet voice.

"You don't deserve this, Harry. I really am so sorry."

"'S not your fault," Harry shrugged, "I can't believe I've been so stupid - all this time thinking we could be friends, thinking we were friends - never admitting to myself that…" he trailed off.

"That you're still in love with him?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed, defeated. "And now, just 'cause we were drunk and stupid and out of our heads, we've screwed up a friendship we've been building for months now."

Liam considered for a moment. "You say that, but honestly Haz, I don't think you could ever really be just friends with him."

Harry sighed, not saying anything, but secretly half-agreeing with Liam. He curled himself under a blanket and closed his eyes, as though if he just went back to sleep and pretended it was all a dream, that he could think that it never happened.

"I'm gonna make some breakfast, okay?" Liam sighed, heaving himself off the sofa, "We're both hungover and exhausted and I think we can do with a little feeding."

 

 

Ten minutes later, Harry sat across from Liam, picking despondently at his scrambled eggs; ravenous but his throat too dry to swallow more than little pieces at a time. Bit by bit, he cleared his plate, determined to at least mitigate the hangover symptoms a little so that he could have a semi-productive day. "You know," he said as he helped Liam to load the dishwasher, "Before I met Louis, I barely ever talked; I was all turned-inwards, barely said a word to anyone or made friends. I hated everything about myself and was convinced I was all wrong somehow."

Liam turned to look at Harry, his eyes filled with pity and compassion.

"And then, from the moment I met him, everything changed. Within a few weeks, I had let out all the things I had always kept hidden, I slowly became this new, confident person; the person that you met when we arrived for our first year at Cambridge."

Liam looked like he was on the brink of tears again and rested a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. "He's the only one who's ever had that power. And I think that might be why this hurts so much."

 

\------

 

**6 June 2012**

 

Louis had come into the café every day since that first, always at the same time, flashing a bright smile and blinking his sparkling azure eyes up at a mesmorized Harry. Harry always became about 90 percent clumsier and more awkward whenever Louis was around, but Louis didn't seem to mind, always found something to say or to ask him.

At 9:15 on Friday, Louis arrived as always and ordered his usual. As Harry prepared his order for him, Louis asked casually, "So, curly, seeing as I'm always lurking around your place of work, I thought you might like to see mine sometime?"

"The… the tattoo shop?" Harry questioned hesitantly.

"Yeah, if you'd like. It's pretty cool and I pinky swear that no one there bites."

Harry smiled a little smile and nodded, "That would be cool. I get off at 2, I could come by after?"

"Lovely, Harold! I'll see you then." And he flashed his signature, crinkly-eyed smile, picked up his drinks and danced away.

 

The tattoo parlour was far less intimidating than Harry had thought it would be. It was decorated with lots of abstract art and twinkling lights, and everything was bright and pristine. He walked in the door rather hesitantly, taking in his surroundings.

"Harold! Ah, the man of the hour!" Louis strode towards him, grinning broadly. It was all a little strange - Harry had never seen Louis outside the context of the café and was finding it a little odd not to have the barrier of the café counter between them. "Lads, this is Harry, he's the one making sure we're caffeinated all day."

It was a bit of an exaggeration, but Harry figured he'd roll with it. Two men came out from the back room of the shop, one about Louis age; rail thin, dark and brooding, and the other slightly older, almost his entire upper body littered with tattoos.

"This is Tom." The older man stepped forward and pulled him into a hug. Harry wasn't sure what to do at first, he was definitely not used to people hugging him, but he gradually relaxed into it. "Tom, this is Harry. And this," he gestured to the younger of the two, "Is Zayn. Say hello Zaynie."

" _Zayn's a little shy_ " Louis said to Harry in an exaggerated stage whisper.

"Oh piss off!" the boy called Zayn said, shoving Louis in the shoulder. Harry immediately liked him, could sense they were similar in how they interacted with people.

"Good to meet you, mate" he said softly, extending a hand for Harry to shake.

"Lovely. Well now that's over and done with, I thought I could give you the grand tour - that sound ok curly?"

Harry nodded, still a little overwhelmed. Louis showed him around the shop chattering away, occasionally throwing a sassy comment Zayn's way (which was usually just met with a rude hand gesture.) "And this," Louis finished proudly, pointing at one of the workstations,"Is where I work,"

 

Harry saw a thick leather-bound book on the side table, DESIGNS AND IDEAS written across the front. He pointed at it and asked, "May I have a look?"

"Sure you can, Louis beamed, handing him the book. He paged through it, turning each page carefully as though they were made of the most delicate fine gold, pausing now and again to trace over the beautiful black and white sketches. One page in particular caught is eye; on it was " _It is what it is"_ in spidery writing, almost identical to the one on Louis' décolletage, and below it, a painstakingly intricate butterfly.

"Like that one, huh?" Louis asked knowingly.

"Its… _beautiful_ ," Harry breathed, awestruck by the fine curling lines of the sketch. "This is your design?" he asked, looking up in wonder at Louis.

"Yeah, they're all mine. I drew the stencil for the one I've got on me chest," he gestured to the writing, "And Zayn did it for me."

"Well they're amazing. You're really talented, Lou."

Louis beamed at Harry, his cheeks flushing slightly pink and ducked his head modestly. "Here, why don't you take a seat and I can show you how it all works, if you'd like?"

"Yes please!" Harry replied eagerly.

Louis patiently talked Harry through how the procedure worked and then went on to chat about funny clients he had had, or ridiculous ideas that that been pitched to him. Harry slowly started to loosen up, no longer uncomfortable with the amount of attention being focused on him and started to enjoy it, feeling at ease and contented in Louis' presence. It was like he shone when he spoke, his face full of light and exuberance, his melodic voice tinkling pleasantly. As he spoke, he made extravagant gestures with his hands and silly facial expressions and would always throw in a sassy comment or a funny anecdote to make Harry smile. "Would you ever get a tattoo?" he asked Harry at one point.

Harry shook his head immediately. "Sorry… I didn't mean… it's just that they're so permanent and my parents, they…"

"Don't apologize," Louis said, in a soft sincere voice, "And I understand what you mean. If that wasn't a thing, would you want one?"

Harry thought for a moment, picturing the exquisite sketches in Louis' book and running his eyes down the motley collection of ink on Louis' arms and chest. "Yeah, I would," he replied, surprising even himself. His face fell. "But I can't."

"That's alright, until that time when you can," he picked up a sharpie from the side-desk and reached for Harry's hand, "You can do this." He carefully drew a little black "L" on the soft skin below Harry's pinky finger.

"L for Louis?" Harry asked curiously.

"Yep. I figure that way, when you get your first real one, you'll think back to this moment and remember a time when you couldn't do it: it'll show you how far you've come."

Louis looked Harry in the eyes, blue meeting green, and Harry felt a surge of gratitude. It may have been a little trivial gesture, but Louis' understanding that Harry's choices were so constrained in that moment and his faith that someday he would be able to surpass this, made him feel validated and safe. "I should go," Harry said regretfully, as he saw two lanky guys walk through the door probably for an appointment.

"Alright," replied Louis, "Well, feel free to come by anytime, Harry."

Harry knew he probably shouldn't say anything but he couldn't help himself. "Are you sure? I don't want to bother you."

Louis looked slightly bewildered. "Bother me? Don't be a twat, Harry; I like the company. And we're friends, yeah?" _Friends_. Louis considered them _friends_. This was the only time that someone had actually wanted to be friends with him.

 

He walked back to Anne's that evening with a bright smile on his face and a warm glow in his heart. He went back to the tattoo parlour after work every day that week.

 

\------

 

 _It had been two weeks;_ two entire weeks and Harry had heard absolutely nothing from Louis. Radio silence. Two weeks of moping around miserably, feeling utterly wretched and stupid, curled up under the blankets with _Talia_ on repeat for most of the time he wasn't at work. He refused to go to the pub on the off-chance that Louis would be there and hadn't been back to 17 BLACK either. Subsequently, he hadn't seen Zayn or Niall for two whole weeks and he could tell that Niall wasn't particularly impressed, if his constant text messages and missed calls were anything to go by.

By the end of the second week and the seventh rewatch of the Notebook, Liam had had enough. "Right, Harry, that's it. You are getting out of bed today and we are going out. You need to leave the house; you've been a hermit for too long now."

Harry didn't answer.

"OI! HARRY! Put some decent clothes on - we're going to the pub before Niall has both our heads, and before you make excuses, you know that Louis doesn't work there on Saturdays."

Harry heaved a deep, put-upon sigh, but he knew there was no negotiating with Liam, so he dragged himself out of bed and trudged to his closet, picking out a clean pair of jeans and a black button up.

"Good," said Liam approvingly, "It'll be good to get some fresh air."

"And I'll find that in the pub, will I?" Harry remarked snarkily. Knowing that trying to argue with Harry in this mood was a battle he was unlikely to come out of in a good mood, Liam just rolled his eyes and went to pick up his jacket and keys, before waiting at the front door impatiently for Harry.

 

Harry dragged his feet all the way to the pub, dogged by the nonsensical fear that he might have to face Louis inside. Thankfully, when they arrived there was not a Louis in sight, only Hailee and an unimpressed-looking Niall.

"The prodigal son returns!" Niall intoned sardonically.

"Give him a break, babe," Hailee said gently, coming around the side of the bar and pulling Harry into a hug. "You, alright love?" she whispered into his neck.

Out of nowhere, Harry broke down in tears. He was embarrassed and surprised, seeing as this was the first time he had actually cried since his conversation with Liam on the couch.

Niall's hard expression softened immediately. "Oh, Haz I'm sorry," he said a little guiltily. "How about a drink, mate? Looks like you could do with one."

"Thanks," Harry nodded gratefully, taking a seat beside Liam at the bar, and trying to wipe as much as he could of the cascade of tears running down his cheeks.

"Whiskey," Niall said, pushing a glass filled to the brim with dark amber liquid across the bar towards Harry, who accepted it gratefully and took a gulp, grimacing as he did so.

"'S straight," he noted.

"Yeah, figured you needed it." Niall replied, his voice sympathetic now. Harry's crying had thankfully calmed down a bit now to a place where he was actually able to form coherent sentences. He took another slug of whiskey and looked up at Niall sheepishly.

"I'm really sorry mate, I know I kind of just disappeared of the grid there for a bit, it's just been a bit…complicated." He hesitated for a moment, wondering whether he should tell Niall the whole story, wondering whether he had the emotional energy left to do so. Niall knew Harry's story of lost summer love; he had been told it during their first year at Cambridge together, but Harry had never let him know that it was Louis. He wasn't sure why, exactly, perhaps he had been worried that it would complicate things for him as Louis' employer or make things awkward in their friendship group. He settled for admitting a part of the story.

 

He sighed heavily. "I… I fucked things up with Louis."

"We know, mate" replied Niall grimly.

Harry glanced between Niall and Hailee, confused. Hailee shrugged apologetically. "He's staying at ours," she said, by way of explanation.

"Oh?"

"Yeah," Niall nodded, "He's a mess at the moment. He's only working one shift a week here now, Monday evening's, refused to work on Sunday's and Thursdays, so we figured something might be up between the two of you."

"Oh," was all that Harry could think of to say. Niall nodded and went off to pour Liam's beer, Hailee coming over to Harry's side and resting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"What happened, Harry?' she asked, empathy filling her eyes. As far as Harry knew, Hailee didn't know anything about his past, unless Niall had told him, but he thought it might make it easier to tell someone who was an outsider to his whole sorry history.

 

"I'm in love with him," he said dully.

"Yes, I thought that might be the case," she said a little sadly, and as Niall came back with Liam's drink, she looked up at Niall and gave him a sad little nod.

"You were right, babe."

"Shit, Harry," Niall sighed, leaning on his elbows and watching Harry with compassion. "So what happened? Did you sleep with him?"

Harry's lack of answer was answer enough.

"Oh, Haz."

"And then he just fucking up and left, the arsehole; woke up to an empty bed, didn't I?" Harry spat, his voice suddenly angry. "Stopped fucking talking to me - like I was a one-night stand or something, not one of his best friends!"

"I know, Harry, that is awful," Hailee soothed, "But if it's any consolation he's absolutely wrecked too."

"He has _no right_ to be! _I_ didn't do anything! _He's_ the one who approached me, _he's_ the one who kissed me, and the one who  just up and left like a coward. So it turns out I was just a quick fuck to him after all."

"I don't know what to tell you mate, he's a complete mess. 'S been on my sofa the last two weeks, have to physically drag him out of bed and to the shop every morning," Niall shrugged apologetically.

Harry was on his second whiskey by now, and all the pent-emotion that had been festering inside for two weeks was gushing out; as though floodgates had been flung open. "I should've known, I should have known," Harry moaned morosely, "That we couldn't be friends. I was stupid to even try."

Both Niall and Hailee looked confused. Liam had his head in his hands.

"Wait - what do you mean?" asked Niall.

Fuck it, Harry thought, he was already more than halfway there, why not just spill it all. They were two of his best friends after all, and he was a little ashamed that he hadn't said anything to them sooner. He sighed. Thankfully his breathing and tone of voice had returned to normal now, and he was feeling a little more composed, even despite the two whiskeys.

"Do you remember, back in first year of Uni, me telling you about that guy I met over the summer before freshers?" he asked.

"The guy who…" Niall's eyes widened with realization. "Wait, are you saying that Louis is…?"

Harry nodded sombrely.

"Shit."

"Yeah, you've said that," Harry said, grimacing.

Hailee still looked lost. Niall sighed and turned to her, after non-verbally checking to see if Harry was okay with him telling her.

"Harry met Louis six years ago and they were a thing. If I remember correctly he was Harry's … uh … first love?"

"My only love," Harry admitted.

"Greg?" Niall asked.

"Nope. I just couldn't do it, couldn't fall in love with him. I've never felt the same way about anyone else as how I felt about Lou."

Hailee's eyes had gone watery and she wrapped Harry in another hug. "Oh, _Harry_."

None of them - not Niall, not Hailee, not Liam - told Harry that everything was going to sort itself out, that everything would be alright… Harry had no need or use for those platitudes anyway. He wasn't sure if everything would be alright, wasn't even sure if he would be able to salvage his friendship with Louis at this point. That night, he and Liam stayed at the pub for a long time, Liam and Niall doing their best to cheer Harry up and Hailee providing him with continuous comfort and affection. Harry had been unlucky in love, sure, but one thing was for sure - he had the most wonderful friends he could ever have asked for.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So we're getting there... It's all gonna get very Larry up in here quite soon. 
> 
> Songs for this chapter that I'd definitely recommend listening to and reading their lyrics carefully.  
> Your Song - Elton John  
> You take my breath away - Queen  
> Secrets - Mary Lambert
> 
> The last one isn't explicitly mentioned but there's an easter egg lyric in there if you can find it! Lots of you will know this song and its associated Larry-ness.
> 
> Enjoy! Promise that next chapter we're gonna get into the real juicy stuff!
> 
> Please continue leaving comments and kudos if you'd like 
> 
> xxx

Over the next two weeks, Harry was starting to feel a little more human again. He had eventually stopped moping around the house all weekend and had imposed a strict no rom-com rule which Liam had been more than happy to comply with. Despite the hole in Harry’s life that had once been occupied by time spent with Louis, he was keeping himself as occupied as possible with work and it was paying off – insomuch as he didn’t have even a spare second for his thoughts to wonder.

Taking on extra cases as well as incredibly challenging ones and often working through the night, he was so busy that he barely had a moment to think, let alone dwell on the current state of his relationship with Louis.

 

Also on the positive side had been the development in civility and potentially a sort of tentative friendship between Greg and himself. Despite the little time that had passed since their break up (6 weeks, no less), there seemed to be no hard feelings on either side and the two of them seemed to be developing a comfortable working relationship. Harry had also talked Greg up to his father – not as a form of sycophantic apology to him – but really just because Harry felt he was doing an incredible job and strongly deserved a promotion, or at least some form of recognition.

 

That morning, for the first time in a long time, Harry actually felt rather cheerful. He had a new client – a model, from what he had gathered of their conversation over the phone -  coming in at lunch time that he was excited about. The issue in question was complicated, but she seemed affable and down-to earth and anyway, at the moment, Harry had taken a real liking to challenging and complex cases.

 

“Harry?” he heard Greg’s signature gentle knock on the door.

“Come in!”

“Hey mate,” he smiled, “Was making myself a coffee so I made one for you as well.”

He handed Harry a mug of strong black coffee, the delicious bitter aroma spiralling up in tendrils from the surface of the liquid and eliciting a sigh of pleasure from a sleep-deprived and overworked Harry.

“Thanks,” he said gratefully.

Greg took a seat on one of Harry’s chairs, facing him, and took a sip of his own, milkier coffee.

“Big day today,” he remarked.

“Yeah.”

“You nervous?”

“Hmmm…” Harry reached his arms up over his head to stretch out his back and winced at the multiple cracks the movement produced all along the length of his spine. His back pain had been getting worse lately, probably as a result of his lack of sleep and the hours he had been spending hunched over a desk. “Nah, not really? Quite looking forward to it. I just hope she doesn’t have a bodyguard or anything ridiculous like that.”

 

“Nah, from what I’ve gathered she seems really decent - down to earth like.”

“Good,” Harry yawned.

Then:“How’s Lucy?” he asked, after a pause.

 

Greg’s eyes immediately lit up at the mention of his newest little niece.

“She’s doing well! Crying a lot apparently but I guess that’s pretty normal,” he shrugged. “Poor Marlene’s looking exhausted at the moment though.”

 

Greg checked his watch and stood up to leave. “Best be getting ready, Harry, Ms Delevigne is due to arrive in about 15 minutes or so.”

 

Harry nodded and started to shuffle around his papers, checking and double checking to make sure that he had everything he would need for the meeting.

 With one last friendly nod, Greg left Harry to finish getting ready, shutting the door quietly behind him.

 

\------

 

“So, would I be correct in saying that the account of events as portrayed in The Sun is a complete fabrication?”

“From start to finish,” Cara nodded.

Harry mulled it over for a bit. It was a difficult one, nigh on impossible to prove, and her account would be unlikely to stand up in court. He believed Cara completely and felt immensely sorry for her and for the shitty situation she had been landed in but was a more than a bit worried that he might not be able to get everything she wanted out of it. That didn’t mean he was going to try, though.

 

“This wouldn’t be happening if you could just come out!” Ashley burst out eventually, scowling petulantly.

“Babe,” soothed Cara, her hand resting on Ashley’s leg comfortingly, “You _know_ that isn’t an option right now.”

 

“No… maybe not at the moment,” Harry mused, “But if I’m right about a few loopholes in that contract, then maybe you could, in say, a year? Now, obviously that isn’t the matter at hand right now, our focus for the moment is on how to either get this story retracted and discredited or taking this arsehole to task on it – but that doesn’t mean we can’t plan ahead.”

 

Cara nodded her agreement.

 

“And,” Harry continued after another moment of contemplation, “It’s also really important that we go about this cleverly. No outright denials, nothing too drastic or potentially nasty. That way there won’t be any need for damage control when the time does eventually arrive for you to come out.”

 

 “If you think we can pull this off, that would be really amazing,” said Cara.

 

“Well it’s going to be tricky, and there’s a high probability that anything we try to do won’t make much of a difference, but I’ll do my best,” Harry said, collecting his files and papers and stood up to shake Cara’s hand.

 

“Thank you, Mr Styles.”

“Call me Harry,” he smiled pleasantly. Cara and her girlfriend had to be amongst the most decent and sincere clients he had ever had, and he had meant it when he said he was going to do his best for them.

 

“Thank you, Harry,” said Ashley, ignoring his proffered hand, and tugging him in for a grateful hug instead.

 

**29 August 2012**

 

Harry and Louis lay side by side in their usual spot in Anne’s little garden under the sycamore tree. The entire summer had been unusually hot, but mercifully the temperature had cooled slightly over the last few days, and there was a pleasant breeze blowing through the branches of the trees, gently brushing across their faces as they lay together as if in a dream that only they were privy to.

 

Their hands intertwined, and Harry’s head resting on Louis’ chest; Louis was softly singing to Harry in his high, clear voice:

 

 _So excuse me forgetting, but these things I do_ __  
You see, I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue  
Anyway, the thing is, what I really mean  
Is yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen

 

 

One morning, a couple of days before, on one of the nights when Louis had slept over with him at Anne’s, Harry had walked in on him preparing tea in the kitchen and singing softly to himself. Harry had just stood there for almost an entire five minutes, hidden in the doorway, listening in awe to his smooth, silvery voice as he soulfully intoned the lyrics to _“You take my Breath away”_

 _“I could give up all my life for just one kiss…_ Harry? _”_ Louis stopped short.

“Sorry,” Harry apologized quickly, and moved swiftly towards the surprised and slightly embarrassed-looking Louis and gazing up into his bright cobalt eyes.

“- but you have an incredible voice Lou. How come I’ve never heard you sing before?”

 Louis blushed. “I don’t usually let people hear me,” he admitted self-consciously, “I know me voice is too girly ‘n all, so’s usually only me showerhead that hears.”

 

“Louis, you have a beautiful voice,” Harry repeated earnestly, “It isn’t girly, and even if it were, would it really matter? It’s so unique and – well – I’ve just been stood here mutely for nearly five minutes turned stupid by it, so that should tell you something.”

He gazed intensely up at Louis, running a thumb down his upper arm as if to say: _It’s ok, I would never make fun of you; you are always beautiful to me._ Louis traced a thumb across Harry’s jaw lovingly, before pulling him gently in for a kiss.

 

“I love you, Harry,” he whispered.

They were still so close that Harry could feel Louis’ heart beating an intricate pattern against his ribs, as though it too, were confessing its love through a sort of corporal Morse code.

“I love you too,” he answered.

 

He squeezed Louis waist playfully and added: “But as much as I love you and your dulcet tones, that doesn’t change the fact that I’m absolutely ravenous.”

“My, my Harold,” Louis said, pulling away and grinning cheekily, “Whatever have you been up to, to make you so hungry?”

“I think you know _full well_ what I’ve been up to, you little shit,” Harry growled, pinching Louis’ bum playfully.

 He headed towards the fridge and started taking out ingredients. “Eggs okay?” he asked Louis over his shoulder.

 

“Hmmmm, sounds perfect babe,” Louis purred, handing Harry his cup of tea and hoisting himself up onto the counter.

“Uh-uh, no way, get off there _this minute_ , Tomlinson,” Harry warned him.

“I’m just trying to help.” Louis batted his eyelashes innocently.

“Last time you 'helped',” Harry murmured as he drew closer, moving to stand in between Louis’ thighs and resting his palms on his hips, “You almost burned the house down.”

Louis pouted, and Harry couldn’t help but snog the pout right off his silly, lovely face.

 

Ever since then, Harry had been constantly bugging Louis, cajoling and pleading for him to sing. Usually, after refusing a few times, Louis would eventually roll his eyes, call him a little shit and then proceed to sing a few lines, much to Harry’s delight.

 

Today, however, Harry was silent and distracted, barely listening and seemingly off somewhere in his own world.

 

“Hey, Hazza?”

“Mmmm?”

“What’s wrong, babe?”

Harry propped himself up on his elbows, looking at Louis in surprise.

“Nothing’s wrong. Why’d you think that?”

“Dunno, you’re just quiet s’all.”

 

Harry heaved a sigh. When they had first met, Harry had been his usual quiet, reserved self but as they had become friends and slowly progressed to more-than-friends, Harry had gradually grown bolder; feeling comfortable enough around Louis to be his real self. Turned out his real self was goofy, talkative and very prone to throw in a dad joke at every given opportunity.

 

So, whereas a couple of months ago, a quiet Harry would have been nothing out of the ordinary, today Louis could immediately tell that something was up.

Harry had yet to tell him that he would be leaving in four days, had been postponing telling him for as long as possible. Of course, Louis had always known that Harry would be leaving eventually, he had told him early on that his University year started on the 14th of September, but he had neglected to tell Louis that he would be going home a week before to attend his parent’s annual benefit gala.

 

“I’m going home soon” Harry admitted.

“Yeah, I know babe. We always knew that would be happening.”

“Yeah but like… soon, soon. As in, in four days’ time.”

 

Louis sat up abruptly. “You never said-” he began but then, after a moment of consideration, merely shrugged, appearing to realize that it wasn’t something worth getting upset over. “Although I guess it’s only a week earlier than I thought.”

 Harry desperately wanted to ask Louis where his head was at, whether he still wanted to be with Harry even if they were on opposite sides of the country but he couldn’t bring himself to ask, just in case the answer was no.

 

“I thought your term only started on the 14th – why do you have to go so early?” Louis asked.

“My parents throw this charity gala/lunch thing every year at the start of September and I have to go. It’s stupid really; they serve crab and champagne and dress up to the nines; all these politicians and social climbers come under the guise of raising money for charity, when really it would have made far more sense just to give the money to charity in the first place instead of wasting it on all the canapés and decorations and ridiculous ball gowns. I’m just there as their little pet to show off,” Harry spat, halfway through his explanation having transitioned from neutral to resentful.

 

“Oh, Haz I’m sorry. I know you’re not a fan of being paraded around by your parents. I wish I could make it better for you somehow,” he said sympathetically, rubbing a hand soothingly up and down Harry’s back.

 

Suddenly, an idea – a reckless, unthinkable, brilliant idea – struck Harry.

“You could come along,” he suggested tentatively, “As my date.”

Louis’ jaw dropped open in shock.

“Harry, have you gone insane? After everything you’ve told me about your parents, don’t you think this has the potential to be an absolute shit show?” he asked.

 

“Probably,” replied Harry, “But you know, I don’t really care! I’ve spent so long attempting to be someone else and I’m over it: I love you, and I want you there as my date so that it isn’t so awful and so that I can wine and dine you like you deserve,” Harry concluded resolutely.

“And then 69 me?” Louis teased.

“You are _filthy_!” Harry squawked, shoving Louis’ shoulder and pouncing on him, giggling raucously and pinning him to the ground underneath him, bracketing his thighs with his knees and grinning down at his cheeky face. In a moment of distraction Louis caught Harry unawares and tipped them over so he was hovering above Harry instead, cawing triumphantly at his victory. As they paused, face to face, Louis grew serious for a moment, and reached down to tenderly brush a curl from Harry’s face.

“I will go with you, though, if that’s what you want. I would be really proud to be your date.”

And he leant down to join their lips, the kiss starting off slow and loving, one hand supporting his weight and the other curled firmly in Harry’s hair. Harry reached one arm up to curl around Louis’ waist, gently urging Louis’ downwards so that they were lying chest to chest. The kiss rapidly grew more heated, Louis licking ardently into Harry’s mouth and tugging on Harry’s curls, soliciting a filthy moan. Harry could feel his cock begin to fill with blood and could also feel Louis’ hardness against his own.

 

“Lou, wait,” Harry panted, forcing himself to remove his lips from Louis’, “Not out here. Let’s go inside.”

Louis nodded, his pupils blown wide, and pushed himself up off the ground, offering a hand to help Harry up.

 

As he hovered above Harry once again, this time in the privacy of his little room, his eyes were filled with adoration and tinged with something that Harry didn’t want to acknowledge: a sadness and desperation that this might be one of the last times he could touch Harry like this.

 

 ------

 

 

“So shall I call Cara, or do you want to tell her yourself?” Greg beamed, pushing himself up off the client chair in Harry’s office.

“I think I should, probably. Obviously, we’ll have to schedule another meeting to discuss all the details, but I think until that time I should definitely let her know the good news.”

“Fantastic,” Greg nodded, “I’ll leave you to it.”

 

It had been another difficult two weeks work-wise, but Harry had quite enjoyed the challenge. It had also of course helped that he had grown to both respect Cara and really enjoy her company, so for once, it felt like he was actually doing something good, something he wanted to do. Negotiations had taken far less long than he had originally thought, so that within a mere two weeks of first meeting Cara, he was pretty much ready to offer her a resolution; certainly a personal best for him.

After a lot of legal back-and-forth, Harry had managed to get the Sun to retract their article and issue a formal apology. The nasty article, which had appeared four weeks before, had pictured Cara with an ‘unknown stranger’ (who was in fact, her cousin) claiming that the two were ‘flirty and all over each other.’ This in itself would not have been a problem, given that Cara was used to being linked romantically to literally every man she was seen with publicly. The problem was that Cara’s cousin, 6 years back or so, had worked as an escort, and while that part of his life was now firmly in the past, it seemed that someone had recognized him and rushed to rat him out to the press. Not only that, but a ‘source close to the model’ (i.e. either someone who wanted their 15 minutes of fame, or a complete fabrication of the author) had confirmed that, “the couple [are] very much in love and aren’t afraid to show it. Cara isn’t ashamed of her new beau’s past and in fact met him through the escort service [he worked for.]” Not only was the story completely ridiculous and damaging for Cara and for any possibility of her coming out in the future, but it also unfairly exposed Jack, and this, more than anything, had been what had angered Cara and spurred her to action.

 

Harry was looking forward to letting her know that the Sun would be essentially grovelling at her feet for their mistake. He had also entered into primary negotiations with the head of Cara’s management into plans for her coming out and hoped that in the long run they might find her a favourable deal.

 

“Harry! How are you?” Cara’s friendly rasp came from the receiver.

“I’m great, but not as great as you’re about to be,” he teased, grinning from ear to ear.

“Shut the front door! You-?”

“Yep, the Sun will not only be retracting the entire article, but they will be also issuing a formal apology confirming that none of the details were true and that their ‘source’ was completely fabricated.”

“That is fantastic news, Harry! I’m assuming you’ll want to have a proper meeting though, at some point?” she asked, ever the sharp businesswoman.

“Yes, of course. I’ll have Greg get into contact with you once everything’s smoothed out and we can make sure we’ve dotted all the I’s and crossed the t’s and all that. Sound good?”

 

“Sounds fantastic. We should celebrate at some point! If you’re ever not being worked into the ground, then let me know and we’ll make plans. You don’t know how grateful I am to you right now.”

 

“It’s nothing, Cara, just my job; and it was a pleasure, honestly.”

At that moment, he heard an excited squeal from the other end of the line, and assuming it was Ashley, said: “Well I’ll let you go then. Have a great weekend and I’ll see you soon.”

He pressed ‘end call’, smiling fondly to himself as the excited yells from the other line died out. He had never felt this kind of satisfaction in his job before, and wondered if this was something he could perpetuate, the kind of thing he could stick to doing.

 

\------

 

That night, when Harry returned home, late as usual, Liam was nowhere to be found. Harry assumed he must be out at the pub or something, but he wasn’t sure as they had been talking much these days. Harry limited his social life to the occasional visit to the pub about once a week and the occasional coffee with Greg. After several weeks of trying to get Harry to be more sociable, Liam seemed to have lost his enthusiasm and given up on this particular goal.

Harry loosened his tie and rubbed a weary hand across his eyes. He needed to stop living off caffeine and meal shakes, which seemed to be all he had time for these days. Not only had he been cramming each and every second full with work, but he had lost his appetite anyway and had lost some weight. He had noticed for the first time as he had left that morning, sparing a quick glance to the mirror in the hallway and doing a double-take on seeing that his trousers were hanging off him slightly.

 

As he slumped wearily onto the settee, his phone started to buzz obnoxiously. Harry was a bit baffled to see ‘Zayn’ light up the screen, but picked it up anyway, wondering why, after almost two months of not having seen or spoke to him, he was calling at 9:30 on a Friday evening.

“ ‘Ello?”

“Harry,” came Zayn’s familiar voice, his tone clipped.

“What’s up?”

“Liam’s at the pub with us and he’s starting to get drunk; we need you to come pick him up, we’re meeting friends in 15 or so, so we can’t drop him back.”

“What the – wait – what? It’s 9:30. How’s he already pissed?” Harry asked exasperatedly.

“Summat about his girlfriend breaking up with him. Anyway, you coming or not?” he snapped.

“His – wait – I’m lost again. What are you talking about? Liam doesn’t have a girlfriend?!”

“Well no, not anymore he doesn’t.”

“Zayn-”

Zayn sighed impatiently, as though he were trying to explain something to a toddler.

“He’s been going out with her for a month or so; it appears he hadn’t told you, but anyway they broke up earlier today and he’s had one drink too many.”

“Oh. Oh, ok,” Harry stuttered, a little taken aback, “All right, I’ll be there in ten or so.”

Zayn hung up.

 

Had he really been so caught up in his own world that he hadn’t known Liam had been dating someone for the last month? He and Liam told each other everything, always, so this was something of a blow for Harry.

 

When he arrived at the pub, Liam seemed to have sobered up marginally, thank goodness, and Zayn handed him over as if passing off an unsavoury parcel.

“Thanks for taking care of him, man.” Harry said, “I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Zayn mumbled, stalking off.

 

The journey back to the flat was relatively painless, Liam tended to be a quiet and melancholy drunk, which in the present moment, Harry was very grateful for. When they finally reached the comfort of their living room Liam slumped down on the sofa and looked up at Harry morosely.

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was dating someone.”

 

“No, Li, don’t be stupid, I’m the one who should be apologizing, not you!” he said, softening immediately,  “I’ve been so caught up in my own selfish world lately, that I haven’t made any time for you.”

“No, Harry,” Liam shook his head fervently. “It’s not that. It’s just that you’ve been avoiding going out recently and I know it’s because you’re still hurting, even if you don’t want to admit it… and truth is, I’m not sure how to act around you; it felt weird to be so happy when you were so miserable,” he sniffed.

 

“Oh, Liam,” Harry sighed, flopping down on the sofa beside him and pulling him into a tight hug.

“You don’t need to feel like that ok? Just because I fucked things up for myself, doesn’t mean you need to tiptoe around me, I’m a big boy.”

“Well, I ‘spose it doesn’t matter anymore anyway, seeing as I’m also alone toonow.”

Harry snorted, and Liam smiled a little sadly.

“Yeah guess that’s us. Two sad and lonely bachelors, forever alone.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Liam grinned and rested his head on Harry’s shoulder, reaching for the remote and flicking through the channels, eventually landing on a rerun of Friends.

 

Whatever Liam said, Harry had not been a good friend lately and he knew it. He realized that his whole drama with Louis was preventing Liam from spending time with his group of friends, so much so that he had to sneak around behind Harry’s back to meet with Louis and Zayn. His childishness and stupid romantic delusions had resulted in him fucking up their friendship, and he wasn’t going to let himself do that for a second longer. He was going to talk to Louis, right away, and sort this out. Even if their friendship was unsalvageable, even if it meant they never spoke again, Harry was sick and tired of ostracizing himself and inconveniencing his friends. He grabbed his keys and jacket and made for the door.

 

“Where are you going?” Liam asked.

“The pub. I need to talk to Louis. Will you be OK here by yourself or should I stay? We can watch a movie and I’ll talk to him tomorrow if you want?”

“No,” Liam replied firmly, seeming to understand why Harry needed to go and do this so abruptly and so urgently, “Go. I’m fine, Harry, I’m sobering up and I’m exhausted anyway so I think I’ll just hit the sack.”

“Alright then, if you’re sure,” Harry said, filling up a glass of water and fishing out a banana and an aspirin from the kitchen cupboard and setting them in front of Liam. “Take those and put that by your bed for the morning. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

 

“Thank you Harry,” Liam smiled gratefully, “and good luck.”

 

Good luck, Harry thought, yeah he was going to need a little more than luck for what he was about to do. There would be no way back.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi there everyone!
> 
> I'm really sorry for taking so long to update, but Ive had one deadline after the other these last few days so it's been quite the stress-fest over here.  
> This definitely was not where I wanted this chapter to end, but I did want to give you something in the meanwhile, so I'm not too happy with it. I also haven't had a chance to read through it so there might be some embarassing mistakes - eep and sorry in advance!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> xx

Harry strode purposefully towards the bar, directly towards Niall, his features set.

“Harry!” Niall beamed, “Good ta see you back again so soo-”

“Where’s Louis?” Harry interrupted.

Comprehension seemed to dawn in Niall’s eyes and he replied: “He’s staying over at mine tonight. I think he and Zayn went to meet some friends but he’s definitely crashing at ours afterwards.”

When Harry didn’t reply, Niall continued tentatively, “You can go and wait for him there if you’d like, I can give you the keys? He seemed pretty tired so I don’t think you’ll be waiting long.”

Harry softened. “Thanks, Nialler, I really appreciate it, I know you don’t have to do this.”

“Nah mate,” replied Niall knowingly, “I think I do.”

Harry nodded, taking the keys Niall was holding out towards him and turning on his heel.

 

 

Niall’s place was less than a block away and so Harry  arrived in less than 10 minutes, letting himself into the familiar flat. He hadn’t been here in ages; too caught up in work and personal drama to spare some time for one of his best friends, he thought to himself guiltily. The flat Niall shared with Hailee was big and sprawling, with large French wall to ceiling windows and three bedrooms; far too big for just one couple. Niall came from wealthy parents, had attended Cambridge just like himself and Liam, studying to be an engineer, but had completely thrown his parents for a loop when, on graduating, he had bought a shabby building for next to nothing and spruced it up until it was completely unrecognizable. That building was the pub that he owned and ran and he had been rolling in the profits ever since.

Harry made himself comfortable on the settee to wait, glancing around and taking stock of the little changes that had been made since he had been here last; a new acoustic guitar in the corner, a deep crimson throw draped accross one of the armchairs, some flowers in a vase, and a smaller pair of slippers next to Niall's worn ones. There were also some soppy framed photos of he and Hailee that made Harry smile

Harry did not have to wait very long for Louis to arrive. Less than twenty minutes later, he heard the lock click and the familiar sound of light footsteps treading up the hallway. The silhouette of Louis’ curvy, compact figure appeared in the doorway to the sitting room, his diminutive hand reaching out to flick the light switch.

 

“What the-” Louis yelped and jumped about a foot on seeing Harry there on the settee, looking expectantly up at him.

“What the _fuck_ , Styles? What are you doing here? Do you realize how fucking creepy this looks?”

Harry was perfectly aware of how creepy it must look, him hiding in the dark; lying in wait for Louis to come back, but right at this moment, he couldn’t be bothered; he had far bigger fish to fry.

“Yes, I’m aware. Niall graciously gave me a key and suggested I wait here.”

“Well, I stand by what I said; it’s well creepy” Louis said in a flat, toneless voice.

He took off his jacket and moved towards the fridge, pouring himself a glass of water and then turning to lean casually against the kitchen counter.

“What are you doing here anyway?” he asked after a pause, his voice tinged with distaste, his eye’s refusing to meet Harry’s.

 

“Louis, please don’t be like this,” Harry said, struggling to keep his voice from cracking with emotion, “I just want to talk, I just came here to _talk_ to you. This is a shitty situation for all of us and I don’t want to fuck this all up for our friends, you know?”

 

“Too late for that now though, isn’t it?” Louis shrugged, his voice still toneless and seemingly disinterested.

Harry, who had begun this conversation in a relatively collected state, driven fully by the desire to reconcile what they had left of their friendship or at the very least to do some damage control so that the fallout wouldn’t be too bad for their mutual friends, was starting to get rather pissed off at Louis’ apparent indifference and disdain.

 

Harry stood and took a few paces towards where Louis stood, leant carelessly against the kitchen counter with his glass of water, as though completely unfazed and uninterested in the conversation.

“Let me just remind you that it was _you_ that grabbed _me, you_ that kissed _me_. And it was _you_ that just up and vanished in the morning like nothing had happened.”

Harry’s voice had grown louder now, infuriated by Louis’  lack of reaction and fuelled by the fury and the embarrassment and the longing and all the rest of the unpleasant emotions that he had held back for weeks now.

 

“You started it all and you didn’t have to do anything, you could have just let me be!” he yelled, poking his index finger accusingly into Louis’ chest. With a strange sort of twisted satisfaction, Harry saw that Louis’ façade had finally dropped, he too looked angry and perhaps a little shocked. Harry was such a docile, loving man that when his angry side came out, it often came as a complete shock, and was that much more intense for it. Harry didn’t think Louis had ever seen him angry before, and especially not at him.

 

He was crying now, hot, angry tears spilling down his face. He wiped them away impatiently.

“You slept with me, you told me that you wanted it, that I should be with you and then you just fucking left as if it was nothing! You refused to talk to me for _weeks_ , Lou, have you got any idea how that made me feel? His voice broke with the anguish of the last words, Harry no longer trying to stifle his tears.

 

“I thought that was what you wanted,” said Louis in a quiet voice.

 

Harry snorted in derision: “ _What?_ That I _wanted_ to feel like a cheap lay? That I’m good for a quick fuck but not worth the time or effort of you even talking to me? I’m not asking for us to be BFF’s Louis, just maybe for the respect to let me know what it was you actually wanted before I let my guard down for you again!”

 

“I don’t want to be your BFF,” Louis answered, his voice brittle now, as though he was holding back tears.

 

Harry let out a humourless laugh. “Yeah, well, you’ve made that pretty clear.”

Harry turned to walk away, but Louis grabbed his forearm.

 

“Harry, listen to me. I left because I thought you’d regret it. You’d only recently ended a relationship and I was starting to feel guilty that maybe I had taken advantage of you in a vulnerable state. I knew I was just a rebound and I didn’t want you to wake up and regret it all, so I left.”

 

Harry stood there with his mouth agape, utterly dumbfounded.

 

“You realize how insane that sounds, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Louis replied sheepishly. “But I was also protecting myself, and I know that was selfish so I’m sorry.”

 

“Wait, what do you mean you were protecting yourself? Harry asked, nonplussed. He was so confused that he had forgotten to shout.

 

Louis shook his head sadly.

“For someone who attended Cambridge and is a partner at a top law firm, you can be really thick, sometimes Harry, you know that?”

 

Harry remained mum, still looking at Louis in confusion.

 

“Oh Jesus… _I’m in love with you_ , Harry,” Louis finally said, his voice trembling and his face wretched.

“Fuck, I’m so in love with you, and when I thought I was just a rebound, I couldn’t take it. I knew that you just wanted to be friends and I just couldn’t do it anymore; every day was so fucking agonizing.”

 

“Lou” Harry breathed. “I don’t want to be friends.”

 

“Yeah, I get it” He turned his face away, as if to hide the hurt in his eyes.

 

“No, Louis,” harry said urgently, reaching for Louis’ jaw and turning his head to face him, “what I mean is that I don’t want to be friends either, I want to be _with_ you. I love you too. You’re all I want, all I’ve wanted for so fucking long,” he breathed. And it felt as though iron shackles had been severed from his ankles, felt as though he was free to move and breathe for the first time in who knows how long.

 

“But you said – I thought you wanted to be friends, when we had that first conversation, you… you said-?”

 

“Yeah, but that was only ‘cause I thought that’s what _you_ wanted! You seemed so unaffected when I first saw you and so I took that as a sign and I figured if that’s all I could have from you than it was better than nothing.”

 

“Oh, _Harry.”_ His voice was so quiet now, and they were stood close, barely breathing.

 

And then; “Can I kiss you?”

 

“Please,” Harry pleaded and surged forward, connecting his lips to Louis’, warm sparks erupting in his belly, each point of contact between their bodies on fire. He wound his arms around Louis’ waist pulling him impossibly closer, savouring each touch of his electric skin. Louis kissed him deeply and desperately, hands fisted in Harry’s hair, holding on as though he would never let go.

 

“Fuck, Harry,” Louis said, when they eventually broke apart, pressing his forehead against Harry’s.

“I love you Louis, so much.”

“I’ve loved you since you were 18 you stupid, ridiculous, lovely boy,” Louis grinned, running his thumb over Harry’s bottom and leaning in to press another soft, lingering kiss on Harry’s plump lips.

 

“Can we?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathed, his voice gravelly with lust and emotion.

He hoisted Louis up and carried him towards the room that Louis indicated, his legs wrapping around Harry’s waist immediately as if on instinct.

 

He laid Louis gently out onto the bed below him and crawled up so that he was hovering above him on his hands and knees. Louis reached up to cup Harry’s cheek and ran his thumb tenderly across his jaw. Harry shivered at the touch, so in love with this beautiful boy. He didn’t want to rush it this time, wanted something different from the hurried desperation of a few weeks ago. He wanted to savour every moment, worship each breath-taking inch of Louis’ skin, look into his eyes and show him just how deeply in love he had fallen.

“I love you,” he whispered again and sat back on his haunches to pull his shirt off above his head. He gently unbuttoned Louis’ button up with trembling fingers, Louis lifting himself up slightly so Harry could tug it off him and toss it on the floor beside the bed. Harry gazed at the exquisite expanse of skin beneath him, golden brown and adorned with many intricate inked patterns. He would be content just to sit there forever and run his hands over this bewitching canvas, examining each little detail and committing them to memory.

 

He lent down and pressed soft little kisses in a trail down from Louis’ collarbones, his mouth barely ghosting over his nipples and naval. As he reached the waistband of Louis’ jeans, he felt him release an involuntary shiver and looked up in question.

“Can I?” he asked.

“Yes, _please,_ baby.”

 

He took his time unbuttoning Louis jeans and pulling them carefully down and off his legs and then pulling down Louis’ boxers, his cock springing free, beautiful, red and impossibly hard.

Harry took Louis’ cock into his hand and pressed the gentlest of kisses to the tip before licking a flat stripe up the underside of his cock, and then taking him all the way down.

Louis gasped and reached out to tug at Harry’s hair, causing him to moan obscenely with pleasure, the hum reverberating around Louis’ cock. Harry came back up and kissed Louis’ slowly and deeply.

 

“What do you want, baby?” he asked, cupping his cheek and gazing into his eyes, glistening and almost entirely pupil, with just a thin ring of cobalt.

“I want… I want you to fuck me, please.”

Harry nodded, his throat tight with emotion.

 

“You got stuff?” he asked gently.

“Yeah, bedside table.”

Harry got up, pulling down his own jeans and boxers, just as achingly hard as Louis was and then rooted around in the drawer for lube and a condom.

 

“Gonna open you up now, okay?” Harry said.

“Yes, yes, please,” Louis pleaded.

 

Harry gently parted Louis’ thighs and propped a pillow under his hips to give him a better angle. His fingers well-coated with lube, he fluttered a single finger around Louis’ pink hole and then leant in to blow on it gently. Louis squirmed and gasped, “Harry, please, _please_ stop teasing.”

Harry obliged, carefully pressing in one finger, allowing Louis to adjust before working it slowly in and out. When he could feel Louis relax around it, he added a second, working them a little faster, scissoring and crooking his finger in search of the little bundle of nerves. He could tell immediately when he found it, as Louis let out a strangled moan and tightened his grip on Harry’s hair.

“I’m ready, _I’m ready,_ please Harry,” he begged.

Harry leant in and pressed a kiss to his hole, then darted his tongue in and out, Louis’ hips bucking up off the bed.

Deeming Louis sufficiently prepped, Harry rolled on the condom, coating it carefully with lube and then hovered above Louis.

“I’m gonna go in now, okay?”

“Yes, _Jesus.”_ Louis sighed impatiently.

“I’m flattered, but just Harry is fine,” he smirked, and Louis batted at him in response, too far gone to do much more now than beg.

Harry pressed in slowly and carefully, revelling in the incredible feeling of Louis’ tight heat around him. It had been so, so long and he had missed this; felt the overpowering need to treasure every moment.

Harry bottomed out, both of them groaning with pleasure and then he began to pump in and out, slowly at first and then picking up speed as he was carried away by the sensation. He kissed Louis, deep and filthy but sloppy, cut up by panting breaths. They were both embarrassingly close, but Harry thought that maybe, just like him, Louis had been anticipating this for so long.

“Fuck, Harry,” Louis let out a strangled half-yell, “Right there,” as Harry rammed into Louis’ spot again and again.

Harry came in hot spurts, a searing white blindness erupting behind his eyelids, and Louis followed just moments later, come streaking across his tattooed collarbones.

 

“So beautiful” Harry gasped out, utterly overwhelmed by the sight of Louis below him, completely wrecked and covered in come.

He collapsed onto the bed beside him, still breathing heavily.

Louis pulled Harry towards him, making grapy hands for his face and Harry obliged pressing an exhausted kiss to his lips.

“Snuggle?” Louis asked needily.

“ Course, love, but lets’ get you cleaned up first, okay?”

Harry hauled himself up off the bed with difficulty, Louis making an unhappy little noise and fetched a face cloth from the bathroom, returning to gently wipe Louis clean and then tossing it on the floor beside the bed.

 

He lay back down, curled back into Louis’ chest, warmth emanating throughout his back. Louis pressed a kiss to the back of his neck and draped a hand over his waist, pulling him impossibly closer.

“I’m stupidly in love with you,” he whispered.

“I’m stupidly in love with you, too,” Harry murmured back.

 

And they fell asleep within minutes, Harry tucked safely and lovingly in Louis’ arms, both utterly stupid for the other.

 

 

\------

 

 

 

When Harry woke, he experienced a split second of panic where he thought that Louis had left, again, as he turned to see his side of the bed empty.

But the sheets were still warm when he ran his palm over them and the very next moment, Louis came in through the bedroom door, carrying two steaming mugs of tea.

“G’morning,” rasped Harry.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have an incredibly sexy morning voice?” Louis asked fondly, setting their mugs down on the bedside table and sitting back on the bed, back against the headboard. Harry hoisted himself up to be beside him, and Louis immediately kissed him, his face turned and his hand gently cupping Harry’s cheek.

“I’ve got morning breath,” Harry grumbled, but Louis just swooped in again to peck his lips cheekily.

“I don’t care, Haz.”

Harry rested his head on Louis’ shoulder tucking his nose into the crook of his neck and breathing in the intoxicating scent that was a mixture of cologne, tobacco, sex and something sweet and unique that he could only describe as _Louis._

They remained there for a while, tucked up together in comfortable silence, sipping their tea and gradually waking up properly. The domesticity and familiarity of it all made Harry feel as though his heart were about to burst with love and contentment.

 

After a while, when their tea had gone cold and golden rays of sunlight were flooding the room almost blindingly, Harry sighed and turned to Louis.

“Babe, we need to have a proper talk, like get everything out, figure out some stuff and decide what we’re doing.”

“Yeah, I suppose we should. But can we do it a bit later?” he pleaded, “I’m starving and I seem to remember you make a mean fry up.”

Harry rolled his eyes and acquiesced, getting up out of bed and looking around for the clothes he had worn the night before.

“Don’t be thick, Haz, you can borrow some stuff of mine,” Louis said, rummaging around in an incredibly messy drawer and pulling out a pair of joggers and a tatty band t-shirt.

 

“Also, maybe we should shower first? Considering we kind of smell like sweat and sex, it might be a good shout?”

 

“I thought you were starving,” Harry grinned amused, “But yeah, that’s a fair enough point. Although… we should probably shower together you know: saves time and is good for the environment and all that.”

He winked, heading for the en-suite, swaying his hips exaggeratedly.

 

For as much as Harry had claimed to be conscious of the environment in making this particular decision, they ended up having a _very_ long shower as after roughly two minutes, Louis had pinned him against the wall and snogged him senseless and then proceeded to suck him off.

 

By the time they were both clean, dry and dressed, both Harry and Louis’ stomachs were rumbling in earnest. Louis led him to Niall’s swishy kitchen but, as Harry had predicted, had absolutely no idea whatsoever as to the whereabouts of any of the equipment or ingredients. After some exploring and trial and error, Harry managed to cook up a sizzling plate of eggs and bacon for them both and set them down on the counter.

 

“Uf, gah, ish suh gooood,” Louis mumbled through a mouthful of egg, and let out an obscene moan that was entirely disproportionate to the situation.

Harry just gazed fondly at the silly man, hopelessly endeared as ever.

 

As they were stacking their plates in the dishwasher, a sleep-rumpled Niall appeared through the door of one of the bedrooms.

“Ah so _that’s_ what kept me up half the night,” he intoned sardonically, coming up behind Harry, slapping his bum and ruffling his hair affectionately.

He was positively beaming at them both and rolled his eyes in fond exasperation.

 

“Jesus you two, it only took you a bloody century.”

Neither of them could do anything but beam at him in return.

 

“I _do_ very much approve of this,” Niall continued, gesturing between Louis and Harry, “But fair warning, next time you wanna fuck _that_ loudly and for _that_ long, we’d like a warning in advance.”

Harry just beamed at Niall, tugging him into a hug.

“Thanks, mate,” he whispered in his ear.

“You’re very welcome, Harry, I really am happy for you,” he answered, still holding tight.

 

\-----

 

Being a Saturday, Harry didn’t have to work and Louis only had two clients scheduled, so he called up Zayn to ask if he could cover for his appointments for him.

Louis had insisted they facetime, and when a disgruntled Zayn popped up, Louis positioned them both in the frame.

It appeared that Zayn was not in the least bit surprised.

“About bloody time,” was his only comment and he then proceeded as though there was nothing out of the ordinary going on.

 

Niall and Hailee left shortly after to go to a wedding cake tasting, but not before Hailee had descended on the pair, cooing and clucking with excitement.

Which left Louis and Harry with the house for themselves. They spent their time curled up together watching TV, exchanging slow, lazy kisses and revelling in the simple pleasure of just _being together_ like this.

 

At around lunchtime, they heard the front door click as Niall and Hailee joined them in the living room, Hailee looking utterly exasperated and Niall a little sheepish.

He plonked down on a kitchen chair, barely acknowledging them and grumbled, a pained expression on his face.

“What did he do?” Harry addressed Hailee.

“The idiot didn’t seem to understand that it was a cake _tasting_ not a cake _eating,_ and finished every slice,” she rolled her eyes, “But seeing as you two are slightly more reasonable with regards to food consumption, I brought you each a slice back of our favourite.”

She pulled a plastic container out of her massive Mary Poppins bag and handed it over to them, Louis having to extricate himself from Harry’s koala-like grip to accept it.

“Hmmm thanks Hails, looks amazing,” said Harry, accepting his slice of delicately iced cake from Louis and taking a bite.

He closed his eyes and moaned with pleasure.

“Fuck, that’s good, what flavour is it?”

“White chocolate with _raspberry and rose_ ,” Hailee answered in her poshest imitation of a pommy accent and running her fingers soothingly through a sulking Niall’s hair.

 

“So anyway,” she continued, in a careful tone, “Ni and I had a sort of idea… we were thinking maybe we could get the whole gang together, now that this,” she gestured to where Louis was happily curled up in Harry’s lap, “is finally a thing?”

“So like us, Zayn and Liam?” Louis checked.

“Yeah, but only if that’s ok obviously. We could hold it here if you lie, just very casual., you know?”

“Yeah, that would be lovely,” Harry beamed.

 

And so it was that a half hour later, Harry kissed Louis goodbye, long and lovingly, going back for more several more (while Niall pretended to wretch from beside them) and left to tidy himself up a bit and talk to Liam. After finally being able to have Louis, very reluctant to let him go, even if it was only for a few hours. He still couldn’t quite believe it; thought he might be in some sort of dream.

 

\-----

 

Liam was waiting expectantly at the kitchen counter when Harry let himself in, clearly slightly annoyed but relieved nontheless

“Where the hell have you been, dickhead?”

“I’m sorry, Li,” Harry apologized, “I should have called.”

“Yes, you bloody well should have!”

Liam shook his head exasperatedly and tugged Harry into a rough hug. “Well you’re all right it seems, so you’re off the hook. Now, what happened?”

 

Harry sat down opposite Liam, completely unsure of where to begin. Did he start with: ‘turns out he’s in love with me too,’ or: ‘turns out neither of us wanted to be friends to start off with’ or: ‘We slept together again’ or: ‘Oh, yeah, you’re invited to dinner with us and the whole gang tonight, surprise!’ ?

Harry looked up at the expectant Liam, took a deep breath and – burst out into tears.

“Oh for fuck sake!” he laughed through his tears, “What is up with me lately?”

Liam looked on as though watching a bizarre exhibition at the zoo.

“I…. I… he loves me,” Harry finally got out, smiling weakly as tears continued to stream unchecked down his cheeks.

 

“Oh! So, um I guessing these are happy tears?” Liam asked, still looking utterly lost.

“Yes!” Harry laughed at the ridiculousness of the whole situation.

He took a few breaths and then started to tell Liam everything that had happened starting from the very beginning up until the events of last night.

 

“So, you’re saying that you both wanted more, but neither of you did anything because you both thought the other didn’t?” a bemused Liam eventually asked, “Just to make sure?”

“Uh huh” Harry grinned. It all seemed so absurd looking back on it now, even though he had felt like he was being physically ripped apart in the middle of it all.

“Jesus, you’re a bunch of idiots!”

“Yeah, that’s what Niall said, to be fair,” Harry nodded seriously. Liam came forward to hug harry again, rumpling up his hair and sighing dramatically.

“A pair ‘o numptys, the both ‘o ya. But I _am_ really happy for you lads. Are you official, or what then?”

Harry didn’t really know how to answer. This was something he and Louis hadn’t actually discussed yet, so caught up in the heady haze of each other, of being able to touch, to kiss, to just be…. That they had repeatedly put off having The Talk.

“We haven’t said yet, exactly,” he began carefully, “but we’ve said we love each other so that’s a start I guess… I know that I want to be with him, whatever that means.”

Liam shook his head seriously.

“Look, Harry, I’m happy you’re happy, of course I am, but you’ve gotta be careful, ok? You loved each other before, and see how that turned out? Love isn’t always enough, you know, so you guys do have to have a proper discussion about this, work out what you want, or it’s gonna end in heartbreak again because you’re both to stubborn to just say what you need.”

 

Harry knew Liam was right. That evening after their dinner, he and Louis would have to actually hash things out, try and figure out what went wrong without blaming each other; else they would just end up making the same mistakes again.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> There is a LOT of crying in this chapter, so I'm sorry in advance. I've had a very rough week, and I guess I took it out on Harry and Louis, oops! (hi)
> 
> We're nearly at the end, yay!
> 
> Also, v important note:  
> I'm sure that you've heard Louis call himself a 'chav' at one point or another. I live in the UK and I think it's important to explain to those who don't that chav is one of those words that people can use about themselves but you absolutely should never use about other people. Meanings include "council house affiliated vermin" as well as some other horrifying ones. Please know that it is used in this chapter but I, IN NO WAY, endorse its use
> 
> So much love,  
> Phoenix   
> xx

**10 th September 2012**

“You look perfect Lou, stop fretting,” Harry hushed Louis who was a ball of nervous energy, looking frantically around, fiddling with his hair and tugging at his bowtie every few seconds.

Harry reached down to gently grab Louis’ hands in his own, stilling their fidgeting and looking into Louis’ eyes to focus him.

“Hey, hey,” he whispered gently, “Baby, it’s okay. You look gorgeous and you know that everyone always loves you, so it will be absolutely fine. And if my parents are annoyed then it doesn’t matter anyway, ok? I love you, and any sane person could see why.”

 

This was something of a strange situation for the two boys; usually it was Louis doing the reassuring, Harry the one lacking in confidence and unsure of his own worth. However, over the summer, Louis had gradually brought out another side of Harry, _the real Harry_ , he would sometimes think privately to himself; and it was a true testament to the effects of their relationship that Harry was now able to be in a position to reassure Louis.

Louis took a deep breath and exhaled firmly.

“Ok, ok, I’m ready.”

Harry held Louis’ hands up to his lips and gently kissed his knuckles. “Ok, let’s go then.”

They entered the ballroom hand in hand, Louis a little nervously, Harry with his head held high.

 

The first half of the evening went well, Harry and Louis circulating the lavishly decorated hall, greeting this and that politician or aristocrat, Louis as likeable as ever, and Harry with a newly acquired confident charm that made Louis glow with pride. Harry had yet to see his parents when his mother finally emerged onto the little stage and announced that dinner was served.

 

Unfortunately, he could not escape being seated at the head table with his parents (given that he _was_ their son, after all) and Louis would be seated beside him.  He had told his parents that he would be bringing a date, but he had not specified neither where they were from nor their gender.

His mother had sounded delighted on the phone, perhaps even a little proud, a tone of voice Harry didn’t think he had ever heard from her before.

 

As the two approached the table and Harry’s parents, Harry too began to feel the nerves that Louis had been experiencing earlier; his bravado faltering slightly under the haughty stares of his mother and father. His mother was a very tall women and this evening was dressed in a sweeping, floor-length gown, her dark hair pulled tight of her forehead in an elaborate chignon and a splash of crimson in the exact hue of her gown coloured her lips. She looked absolutely terrifying.

“Mum, Dad, good to see you,” he said stiffly, extending his hand for his father to shake a dropping a quick peck to his mother’s cheek.

“Harry,” his mother acknowledged, unsmilingly. His father remained silent.

 

“And, um, this is Louis, my, um, date,” he stammered.

Louis took a step forward, paradoxically emboldened by their cold reception and held out a hand for Desmond to shake.

“Louis Tomlinson, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Desmond hesitated for a second his eyes fixed on the hand with distaste - no doubt eyeing the curl of ink that extended below the sleeve of his blazer – but then took the proffered hand and shook it firmly.

“Pleasure,” he replied coldly, although the look on his face indicated that it was anything but.

 

“Shall we sit then?” Harry’s mother asked waspishly, “There’s a lot to get through.”

They sat down, Harry resting a comforting hand on Louis thigh under the table and giving it a little squeeze to reassure him that he was there.

 

Throughout the luncheon, it was perfectly clear that Harry’s parents had no intention whatsoever into inquiring into Harry’s summer nor to treat Louis with anything other than cold indifference. Just before dessert came, his mother finally broke the tense silence and asked Louis: “So where was it you said you come from, Lewis?”

“Doncaster, ma’am, born and raised,” Louis replied politely.

“Aha,” she mused, seemingly not caring to let anyone else in on her train of thought.

 

“So, uh mum,” Harry tried to fill the uncomfortable silence, “Louis here’s an artist and he runs his own business,” he said a little tentatively.

“Is that so?” Desmond asked, his interest clearly piqued, “And what business is that?”

Louis looked a little unsurely at Harry, who just nodded encouragingly.

“Um, ah I co-own a tattoo parlour. All my designs are me own and I bought the building a year ago with a mate. We spruced it up; ‘twas a dump when we first got it see, but now it’s one of the most well-known ones in Donny,” he replied proudly.

“Ah, I see,” replied Harry’s father shortly, clearly not impressed whatsoever by this piece of information.

The rest of the luncheon passed in an uncomfortable silence, the only noise the clinking of cutlery and the peripheral murmur of conversation from the other tables.

 

When the plates were finally cleared by waiters in full penguin suits and tails, they were free to roam around the hall again, as his parents swept off to mingle and a live orchestra began to play.

 

“Care to dance?” Harry asked, a twinkle in his eyes.

Louis nodded silently, allowing Harry to whisk him onto the dancefloor where diamond-bedecked ladies and their partners were swaying.

He pulled Louis closed to him, cradling him in his arms, Louis face tucked into his neck.

“They hate me,” Louis whispered dejectedly, after a few moments.

“They don’t _hate_ you, Lou,” Harry sighed, “But look, hypothetically, even if they did, why would it matter? You _know_ they don’t mean that much to me, so who cares if they’re snobby and uptight? I don’t need their approval, and neither should you.”

Louis said nothing, just continued to sway in Harry’s arms a little dejectedly. This was not the Louis that Harry was accustomed to; loud, confident Louis who couldn’t give less of a shit what people thought of him.

 

“Harold,” came a cold voice over the classical melody, “I would like to speak with you, immediately.”

Harry turned to see his mother standing a few paces away, a look of impatience and distaste distorting her features.

She had always been one of those paradoxically beautiful women, with fine, classical features and enviable stature but who lacked beauty simply because of the impenetrable coldness of their nature.

 

Harry grimaced apologetically at Louis, cupped his cheek gently and murmured: “This won’t take a second, love, I’ll be back in a second. Maybe go get us some drinks at the bar?”

 

His mother grabbed his arm and yanked him towards a subtly hidden door that Harry hadn’t noticed before, pulling him through it and pulling it to behind them. It was a small, claustrophobic storeroom which led to the kitchen on one side and a stairwell on the other.

“What on _earth_ do you think you are doing, Harold?” she hissed, her face livid now, a dark curl escaping her meticulously groomed chignon.

 

“What – why? I – What do you mean?”

“Oh I think you know _perfectly_ well what I mean. Bringing that chav around here, parading him around? You may as well spit in our faces,” she snapped.

“You _know_ how important it is for your father’s business, how important it is for our _family,_ that we maintain a pristine reputation,” she continued.

 

She barely looked human like this, Harry thought, her eyes reduced to slits and her nostrils flared, her face contorted with rage and disgust.

“And not just that but… when you said you were bringing a date, we assumed it would be a girl, not that....” she wrinkled her nose.

Harry had had enough.

“What the actual fuck, mother? You do realize we’re living in the twenty-first century, right? I don’t know what kind of fucked up view you and dad have of ‘reputation’ or, but nowadays having a gay son won’t cause the scandal you seem to think it will.”

“Don’t you _dare_ use that word in front of me!” she screeched.

“What, gay?” he sneered, “Gay, gay, _gay,_ I’m _gay_ mum, and that won’t change. I’m gay and I’m in love with a man.”

Harry turned to push open the door and walk out but saw, with horrifying realization, Louis’ face in the little porthole window. His heart sank.

He was pretty sure the door was not soundproof, which meant that he had heard every word that his mother had just said about him.

Louis pushed open the door hesitantly.

“Harry, you’d been gone for a while and I - ?”

“If you know what’s good for you, boy, you’ll leave now.”

“Mum!” Harry thundered. He grabbed Louis arm and pulled him closer to his side protectively, practically blind with rage and hurt.

 

“Listen very, _very_ carefully to me, Harold. I have discussed this with your father at length and you leave us no choice: either you break it off with this boy or you’re cut off. We will _no_ t be paying your education, you will no longer have a place in our home and your bank account will be cut off and drained. If you choose him, you are no longer our son, do you understand me? There will be no coming back from this.”

 

Harry could not believe what he was hearing. What kind of world were his parents living in? What kind of people, in the twenty first century, threaten complete financial estrangement on the account of something so normal, on the account of their son being in love with another man.

 

“I choose him,” Harry said firmly.

 

His mother laughed coldly, no humour in her eyes.

“Think it over, Harold. I’ll give you some time to decide whether you want to throw your life away for some lowlife who’s probably only with you for your money anyway.”

 

And she spun on her heel and strode out of the room, the door slamming shut behind her.

 

“ _Louis,”_

Harry looked weakly down at him, and saw him shaking and wretched, tears glistening in the azure rings of his irises.

“ _Of course_ I choose you,” he reached out to cup Louis’ jaw, but Louis intercepted him gently pulling away his hand.

“Harry, I can’t let you do this.”

Harry opened his mouth to interrupt but Louis placed a gentle finger to his lips.

 

“No, _listen_ Harry, when you told me about them, I had trouble believing that parents could be like that but now I see… but Harry, they are your _parents_ , and at the end of the day, your only family.”

“No,” Harry whispered fiercely, “ _You’re_ my family.”

Louis shook his head sadly.

“I know you feel like that now Harry but think what you would be giving up, ok? Just try to think about it logically: do you realize what being cut off would mean to you? You wouldn’t be able to go to college, you’d essentially be out on the streets with no possibility of ever reconciling with your family, however many years pass.”

“I don’t care-”

“Well, _I_ do, Harry. You are extraordinarily intelligent and creative have such a bright future and I won’t let that go to waste, I won’t let you throw that all away for me. You’re so, _so_ young you know, you have so much time, and I won’t be the one responsible for dragging you down.”

Harry was shaking, his entire body wracked with sobs.

“So, what, is this goodbye then?”

“I think it has to be, Harry. I don’t fit in your world, and I don’t think I ever will. One day, a few years from now, you’ll wake up and know that you did the right thing, the _sensible_ thing.”

 

Harry couldn’t think of a word to say, didn’t know how to express how his insides felt like they were being ripped into pieces.

 

“But I can do without the money, there are ways, plenty of people do it,” Harry pleaded, “You’re the only thing that I know for sure I want,” his voice cracked in anguish.

“You live in a completely different world to me. I know you can’t see it now, but you’ll end up resenting me, you’ll realize that I held you back and I don’t think I could deal with that.”

Harry looked up at Louis, who had stopped crying and was gazing wistfully at him, his eyes bloodshot.

 

“I don’t think you know right now what it is that you want but even more importantly, I’m not sure I can be what you want anyway, Harry,” Louis said softly, his voice cracking with pent-up tears.

“Lou, you _are_ what I want. What I _need_.”

Louis shook his head sadly and placed a gentle kiss to Harry’s tear-stained cheek. “I’m pretty sure I’ll always love you, you know?” he chuckled sadly.

Then he turned and walked away without a backward glance.

The, _“I’ll always love you too,”_ died in Harry’s throat as he stood helplessly, watching the first person he had ever loved, walk away.

 

 

\------

 

 

Just as Harry had predicted, they never ended up having their talk that evening.

Their dinner had been a huge success and Harry couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so uncontainably happy, roaring with laughter with his closest friends, always maintaining some form of contact with Louis, whether it was a hand on a thigh, an arm around the shoulder or hands intertwined under the table.

 

When they moved from the table to the couch to watch The Dark Knight Rises (at Liam’s insistence and to everyone else’s chagrin) Louis kissed him briefly with such tender adoration in his eyes that Harry thought that he could melt right there and then.

Louis curled up in Harry’s lap to watch the movie, opting for tucking his face into his favourite spot in Harry’s neck instead of watching the screen.

Harry caught Hailee shoot them an endeared look and Zayn and Niall wolf-whistled until Louis threw a pillow at them.

 

When Liam and Zayn had both left, an exhausted Niall and Hailee excused themselves and trudged off to bed, leaving Harry and Louis alone in the living room. Louis had fallen asleep halfway through the movie and was huffing short, puffy breaths into Harry’s neck.

Harry was so utterly endeared that he was tempted just to stay there and leave him be, but grudgingly acknowledged that they would both wake up with bad backs and stiff necks if they stayed in their current position.

So, Harry carefully scooped Louis up into his arms, holding him tight against his chest and carrying him, still sound asleep, to their bed.

 

Louis, who was always so full of sass, so much larger than life, looked completely different like this, so much smaller, tucked up and vulnerable in Harry’s arms. Harry couldn’t begin to express how incredible it felt to be the one that got to see Louis like this. He laid Louis down and slid under the sheets beside him, tugging the blanket up over them both. Turning over, he pulled Louis close to him, feeling the warmth of his back press up against his chest, and curling around him, the big spoon for once, needing in that moment to protect, to hold. He pressed a kiss to the nape of Louis’ neck and whispered a last: “I love you” before he too was dragged under by sleep.

 

\------

 

 

“Louis, you are getting flour _everywhere,”_ Harry sighed in fond exasperation. Louis was ‘helping’ Harry make pancakes for breakfast (with some extra as a thank you to Nailee) but was really just making a mess of the kitchen and clamouring for Harry’s attention, constantly distracting him.

He pouted, and he looked so adorable that Harry couldn’t help putting down the spoon he had been stirring with and moving in between Louis’ thighs to kiss him. At once, Louis reciprocated enthusiastically, and the kiss quickly picked up heat, Louis gripping Harry’s hair and tugging, his tongue pleading for entrance, before Harry pulled away, grinning.

“Uh, Uh, uh!” Harry wagged his finger in reprimand, “Stop distracting me! Do you want breakfast or not, you great big toddler?”

Louis nodded sheepishly and sat back on his place on the counter, admiring as Harry finished the pancake batter, his muscles straining as he beat vigorously.

 

Niall and Hailee joined them for breakfast and the pancakes vanished in record time; Niall consuming more than all the rest of them put together.

“We’re off to meet with the wedding planner,” Niall grimaced as he took his and Hailee’s plates and cutlery to the dishwasher.

“You could sound a little more enthusiastic,” Hailee snorted.

“It’s a Sunday, though,” said Harry, confused.

“Well observed, young Harold,” Louis teased.

Harry rolled his eyes and reached out to smack Louis’ bum.

“No, I mean why are you meeting your wedding planner on a Sunday?”

 

“She’s a friend, so she’s really just doing it as a favour, and Sunday’s are the most convenient days for her,” Hailee answered, “Come on then babe, or we’ll be late.”

Niall grumbled but complied picking up his coat from the rack and joining Hailee.

“See ya later, boys. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” he winked.

 

“Well that doesn’t really narrow our options at all,” Louis pointed out.

Harry just grinned and finished loading the dishwasher and setting it to run.

“Although,” added Louis, “we never did have that talk, did we?”

Harry looked up to see that Louis’ face had turned serious.

 

“No, I guess we should though, get it out of the way.”

Louis nodded and reached out a hand to guide Harry to the sofa.

 

“So,” Harry began, “I guess I should start at the beginning.”

“Hmmm, always a good place to start, Styles.”

“Oh, shut up, you.” Harry grinned. It was so typical of Louis to try and lessen the seriousness of the situation through humour.

“But seriously, I need to apologize.”

“What do you have to apologize for?” Louis asked, confused.

 

“What do you mean, what do I have to apologize for?! Everything, Lou, I-”

Louis made to interrupt but Harry held up a hand, but Harry continued, “No let me talk, Lou. There’s a lot I need to say, and I’ve been holding it in for 6 years.”

Louis nodded, indicating for Harry to go ahead.

 

“So, I guess I need to apologize for everything really. I was young and naïve and I know that’s not an excuse but I was just so unsure of what I had to do. You can’t imagine how terrible I felt for abandoning you for _money_.” Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust, so ashamed of how he had behaved all those years ago. “I don’t know _how_ I ever let myself do that, Louis. It was despicable, I chose money and my homophobic, classist parents over the fucking _love of my life_ and afterwards, I didn’t think I could ever forgive myself for that. I made you think you weren’t good enough for me, when really it was the other way around.”

Harry’s eyes were swimming with tears again. _Jesus_ , what was wrong with him lately? It’ was like a massive tap had been switched on and he just couldn’t stop crying at every given opportunity.

 

“You done?” Louis asked patiently.

Harry nodded.

 

“I don’t know _where_ you got all those ideas from, but I think you and I have _very_ different recollections of that day. I _hate_ that you’re blaming yourself, Harry, it makes me think back to how you were in those early days, when you were apologetic of just the fact that you _existed_ , when you didn’t know… _fuck_ … you didn’t know how fucking amazing you were – you still are.”

Louis rubbed his temples tiredly.

“I was three years older, Harry, I was the adult and I had been irresponsible; I know that now. I knew full well that your parents were never going to accept me, and I let you bring me along anyway, played that little charade even though I _knew_ it would end terribly for you. Fuck, I was so _selfish._ You seem to think for some reason that you made the decision, Harry, but you didn’t. _I_ was the one who told you to go, _I_ was the one who broke it off. And, to be honest, looking back on it now, I might have done the same thing again. Look at yourself, Harry, you got an education, you have an amazing life, you’re incredibly successful. I never wanted to hold you back and look where you are now.”

 

“Fuck, Louis.” Harry shook his head.

“What?”

 

“Don’t you get it?” Harry asked softly.

“Get what?”

“None of those things mattered, ever. You were the only thing that’s ever really mattered to me in my life, Louis and I let you go.”

 

“No,” interrupted Louis fiercely, “ _I_ let _you_ go. I know we both made mistakes, but you can’t rewrite what actually happened.”

“Ok, ok, fine then, you let me go, but I should have tried harder, should’ve, I dunno…” he trailed off.

 

They were both silent for a long time.

 

“But does it matter though?” Louis asked.

 

Harry looked up in question.

 

“We were both young, Harry, we both made mistakes, and at the time we both did what we felt was right and I can’t help thinking that neither of us would have the things we have today if we hadn’t of made those mistakes. But ultimately _, it doesn’t matter_ because we’re here now. We’re older and we’re wiser and we love each other. It’s pretty simple really; none of that matters now.”

 

“So what are you saying?”

 

“I’m in love with you and I want to be with you. It’s as simple as that,” answered Louis softly, gently taking Harry’s hand in his own and pressing kisses to each of his knuckles in turn, and then rubbing his thumb in soothing circles across the back of his hand.

 

“I-” Harry’s voice croaked, “I love you too. _So_ much. And I want to be with you too, if that’s okay?”

Louis chuckled, wetly, crying as well now.

“ _Of course_ it’s okay, you silly, _silly_ boy.”

 

“So, um,” Harry’s cheeks flushed pink and he asked tentatively: “Can I call you my boyfriend then?”

Louis just rolled his eyes and pressed his lips to Harry’s, pushing him down onto his back and propping himself up above him.

“Of course, _boyfriend_ ,” he whispered and kissed Harry’s tears away.


	12. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the last one folks!
> 
> It's legit 100 percent fluff, sorry not sorry.
> 
> If you enjoyed this, could you maybe leave some suggestions for what you'd like me to write next? This is my very first fic but I've really enjoyed doing it, so would love to do a bit more?
> 
> Thank you all so much  
> Adieu!  
> Phoenix  
> xxx
> 
> *Update, I'm currently working on a second fic called I Hear your SOS, so if you enjoyed this one, then go check it out!

**20 September 2020**

“For the love of God, Louis, would you _stop_ fiddling with that?” Liam chided in exasperation. It was liking babysitting a bloody toddler, he thought to himself.

He reached out and straightened Louis’ bowtie yet again.

“Shouldn’t you be with my fiancé in the other room, _Leeyum_?” Louis asked waspishly.

Liam sighed for what felt like the millionth time.

“As I’ve said _multiple_ times now…” he shot a Zayn a weary look, “I was sent here to check everything was going smoothly on your end, which, thank goodness I did, because Zayn seems to have decided to just lay back, drink and abandon his groomsmen’s duties.”

“Oh _shut up Liam_!” both Zayn and Louis chorused in unison.

 

Liam was far more stressed than either one of the grooms themselves and had been twittering around for the last few hours in a fascinating kind of frenzy (much to the amusement of the rest of the bridal party) ensuring that everyone was on schedule, that every flower was in its right place and that every minuscule detail was just as he had planned it.

Liam was technically Harry’s best man but he had more or less singlehandedly taken on the full responsibility for the successful execution of the wedding.

 

His earpiece buzzed.

 “I’ve told you a _thousand_ times that the peonies are _only_ for lining the aisle and that the roses are supposed to go on the tables. _Honestly_ , it’s like I have to do everything myself!” Liam huffed, and strode off, presumably to deal with the emergent flower crisis.

 

“Bless him,” Zayn snorted, taking another sip of champagne, “He’s really taken his duties to heart hasn’t he?”

“God, I’m going to be relieved when this wedding is over just so that he gets back to normal,” Louis groaned, collapsing on to the chair beside Zayn’s and taking a sip from his own champagne flute.

He looked up at the clock on the wall and saw that it was quarter to 11, nearly time, and he felt a flutter of nerves.

“You ready?” Zayn asked softly.

“So, _so_ ready,” Louis replied.

 

He was. He was so, so ready to finally marry the love of his life. They may have only been together two years, but Louis felt like he had been waiting to do this _forever_ and couldn’t quite believe that the day had finally arrived.

He didn’t think he had ever felt this nervous before, except probably on the day that he had proposed to Harry, in a shadowy alcove of Hyde Park, surrounded by the pleasant hum of bees and the brightest flowers. He had been planning on doing it that evening, at a fancy restaurant that he had booked - to do the classic cheesy ring-in-the-champagne-class thing - but as they had been walking hand in hand by the duck pond, and Harry had been so excited to say hello to the ducks, he had been so endeared that he just couldn’t help himself.

Here they were, barely two months later, just fifteen minutes away from getting married.

 

Just then, Lottie re-entered the room, having gone to check up on Hailee and Niall, also in Harry’s room.

“You ready, dickhead?” she asked fondly reaching out to ruffle his hair.

Louis ducked away instinctively, “Oi! Watch the hair! That took Zayn a good half hour to style!”

“All right, all right,” she rolled her eyes and plonked down next to Zayn, the chiffon of her duck-egg blue gown grazing the floor.

“Don’t you think we should get moving soon?” Lottie asked both boys, “I’ve just been over the other side and they all seem about ready to go?”

“All right then,” Louis exhaled deeply. He couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

 

 

 

Louis stood at the top of the aisle, Zayn and Lottie beside him, waiting for Harry to appear and walk down the aisle towards him. It was a breath-taking day, not a cloud in the sky, the perfect day for an outdoor wedding.

 

Everyone that Louis loved was there; his mum Jay; his younger siblings Lottie, Félicité, Phoebe, Daisy, Ernest and Doris; Zayn, Tom, and his best friend Stan from Doncaster.

On Harry’s side was Anne, beaming next to her new girlfriend; Niall and Hailee (with brand new golden wedding hands on their fingers); Liam, Greg, Cara, Ashley and Ed.

Harry’s family hadn’t come, and while it hadn’t come as a surprise to Louis – he hadn’t even thought it was worth sending them and invitation – it still saddened him a little to see.

 

About two months into their relationship, Harry and Louis had gone to speak to Des and Lynne. After trying to reason with them for nearly an hour over lunch at a swanky restaurant, they both realised that they were getting nowhere. It seemed that nothing had changed.

Or so it seemed until, the next week at work, Des had knocked on the door of Harry’s office. He had said that while he didn’t agree with the relationship, he thought that perhaps it was no longer his place to be involved, wished Harry success and then left. Louis had been completely taken aback when Harry had relayed the story to him that night.

Just under two years later, when Harry had called him up to tell him about their engagement, however, Des had told him that he couldn’t approve nor give his blessing but that he hoped he would be happy.

Louis had known it was a long-shot when he had sent of Des’ invitation without Harry knowing.

 

 

It was a small, intimate affair, just as they had both wanted, at a beautiful country house in the peak district just outside of Doncaster.

 Louis was pulled out of his reverie by the mellow chord of a cello and then the wedding march began to play, guests all standing and focusing their gaze on the end of the aisle where Harry and his part of the bridal party were due to appear.

Louis had promised himself not to cry, but a few days earlier when he had told Harry this he had simply answered:  “Don’t be silly, Louis. Crying is one of the manliest things you can do.”

And so there Louis stood, trying hard to hold back tears as his groom, resplendent in an all-white silken suit, his luxuriant dark curls falling to his shoulders, took his first steps down the aisle towards him.

He looked positively radiant with joy.

He walked, eyes fixed unblinkingly on Louis’, emerald meeting sapphire. Liam and walked behind him, all in dark suits accented with pale green, and Hailee followed close behind in a similar shade, holding little Daniel: their tiny ring-bearer.

 

After what felt like an hour, Harry reached the end of the aisle and reached out, tenderly cradling Louis’ smaller hands in his own and looking up at him with an expression of pure adoration.

How on earth had Louis gotten so lucky? What must he have done in a previous life to be marrying this man? He was probably Mother Theresa or someone like that, Louis thought.

The ceremony went on, both of them unable to stop grinning stupidly like the two lovestruck idiots that they were. Finally, time came for the exchanging of the vows.

“I believe you have prepared your own vows?”

Harry nodded and inhaled a little nervously.

“Louis. When I met you, everything changed; it was like I wasn’t myself until we met and then I finally became who I was always destined to be. We were both incredibly stupid,” he grinned, and Niall hollered: “Agreed!” eliciting a collective chuckle from the rest of the guests.

“-but we finally got our shit together. I love you more than life itself Louis William Tomlinson, or ‘LouBear’ as I recently found out you’re more affectionally known as."

He winked at Lottie who smirked knowingly back at him.

“-and I promise that I will never be that stupid again. I will never let you be the hero,” Louis shook his head fondly, “-and I will always make you pancakes, and pick up your smelly socks and sing with you and let you think you’re helping in the kitchen when you’re really not and most of all, I will _never_ let you go.”

 

Louis had tears staining his cheeks by this point and could barely hold himself together enough to say his own vows.

“Harry Edward Styles,” he began, “I told you once that I would never stop loving you, and to this day I stand by my word. I will never, ever stop loving you, even when you colour coordinate my shirts in the closet, or you convince me to get yet another sappy matching couples tattoo, or when you stop to talk to babies in the street or can’t choose a mug because you’re worried you'd offend the other ones. You are my family, Harry, you are my _home_ ,” he gestured to where the ship on Harry’s arm was inked and then at his own compass, “-and we’ll keep on figuring out things together.”

 

The rest of the ceremony passed in a hazy flurry, both men, as well as many members of the audience and the bridal party, crying now, as the grooms finally said: “I do” and exchanged rings.

They had chosen rose gold rings, each with an engraved message. When they had asked the jeweller to engrave “oops” and “hi” on the respective rings, he had been utterly confused and very sceptical, but they didn’t care because _they_ knew what it meant, and they wanted to always remember the first words they spoke to each other.

As they kissed, the guests erupted into applause, Niall, Hailee and Lottie hollering loudly and obnoxiously.

 

 

Entering the tent for the reception, Louis felt as though his heart would burst, people crowded them from all sides, bestowing their congratulations, but the only person Louis could see, the only person Louis _eve_ r saw pretty much, was Harry.

 

“And now for the grooms' first dance,” came Liam’s voice over the loudspeaker.

The opening notes to Shania Twain’s “Still the One” came on.

Harry looked at Louis, a little surprised but his face full of love. “You _didn’t_ ”

“I did,” Louis grinned, pulling Harry to the centre of the dancefloor and wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck, pulling him closer so they were chest to chest.

“I thought we agreed on ‘At Last.’

“Yeah,” Louis hummed, “-but I know how much you love this song, and you know, I was listening to the lyrics the other day and I just figured, it could have been written for us you know?”

 

_We might have took the long way_

_But we knew we’d get there someday_

_They said "I bet they'll never make it"_

_But just look at us holding on_

_We're still together, still going strong_

 

Harry rested his cheek against Louis’s shoulder, encircling his waist lovingly and swaying side to side.

“You’re a terrible dancer,” Louis commented.

Harry snorted, and lifted his head to kiss Louis.

“I love you too,” he grinned.

 

\------

 

After the honeymoon (which they had spent in Paris), things pretty much returned to normal, except for the fact than they were both still so elated and happier and more in love than they had ever been.

 

Louis no longer had to pick up shifts at the pub, as 17 BLACK had become so popular. 

In the two years that they had been together, Harry’s body had essentially been transformed from an almost-blank canvas to a breath-taking collection of unique tattoos. Some were silly, some were just there because he liked the look of them (and he enjoyed the pain, something which he had refused to admit for the longest time), and some marked his friendships. He had an A for Anne and a ‘LP’ for Liam, a little four-leaf clover for Niall and a paintbrush for Zayn.

But far more remarkable, was his extensive set of couple tattoos. The first one he got were the pair of swallows that he had seen in Louis’ sketchbook the first time he had ever visited 17 BLACK. He had asked Louis to do them himself, but had made a few alterations to them beforehand, giving one a curved eyebrow and one a straight one, and making one smaller than the other.

“Birds don’t have eyebrows, you numpty!” Louis had said, laughing.

“Yeah but _we_ do,” Harry had replied simply.

The ship and compass had been done by Zayn a few months later followed by the Laurel leaves which stood for Larry, 'of the Laurel leaves' (their two names combined) that adorned his hipbones (no doubt Louis’ favourite, considering the amount of adoration that he lavished on them).

 

Harry would pop in now and then to watch his husband at work or chat with Zayn and occasionally to add something small to his collection.

He liked to do this often because he hadn’t had much time to do it the past year, what with starting up his and Liam’s new firm, planning for the wedding and moving into their new house. They had made the decision a few months after Louis and Harry had gotten together to split from the firm and create their own. They were both so tired of working for arseholes with too much money and too little moral fortitude; wanted to choose their own clients; charging less but doing something rewarding where they would actually be helping people. Cara had been the one to suggest it originally and had helped them with networking and contacts as well as set-up. She and Ashley came around regularly and often joined Louis, Harry, Liam, Zayn, Niall and Hailee for their weekly Sunday Roast.

 

And so, as it must, life went on. They had moved out of Harry’s shared apartment with Zayn and into their own little house shortly before the wedding. On Harry’s birthday Louis had bought Harry the softest little white kitten that he had named Olivia and that he heaped so much affection on that Louis sometimes got embarrassingly jealous.

 

Three weeks after their honeymoon with all the excitement having died down, they were sitting in their living room, curled up together on the couch watching goggle-box with Olivia dozing peacefully on Harry’s lap.

 

They were both exhausted but completely content. Just as Harry was dozing off to sleep, Louis whispered: “Harry?”

“Yeah?” Harry answered a little groggily.

“You know what’s better than getting married to you?” he asked.

“What?”

“ _Being_ married to you,” he replied placing a last kiss to Harry’s forehead and allowing him to doze off.

 

Louis sat there, with his husband sleeping peacefully in his arms and thought that maybe, just maybe they were the luckiest people alive in that very moment.

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t have a tumblr (I’m relatively new to the fandom) but you can follow my instagram: whatdoyoubringnohair
> 
> Please leave comments as it encourages me to keep updating! Xxx


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